


The King and Lionheart

by moderateTrouble



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-03-20 19:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moderateTrouble/pseuds/moderateTrouble
Summary: Amira Halgal had resolved herself to slowly fading away in prison. Struggling with feeling like she wasted her life, she wanted nothing more than to disappear. But in a cruel twist of fate she's thrust into a life-or-death situation by a dying Emperor who claims her destiny has only just begin. Now she must find his illegitimate son so he can be crowned the next Emperor. How will the hero and heir apparent navigate a fate neither of them wanted?(Long, slow-burn, character driven fanfiction)





	1. Prison

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will deal with themes of depression, anxiety and some struggling with suicidal ideation. There will be fight scenes w/ moderate violence & death. It was originally written for an audience who had little familiarity with TES, so please excuse obvious info dumps. 
> 
> It's long, it's the second fanfiction I've ever tried writing, and its wholly for my own enjoyment & stress relief in between writing my senior thesis. Enjoy!

From time to time, Amira would wonder what it would be like to go to prison. It was a thought that would occasionally pop into her head during her long life, the way someone wonders “How would I react if I got mugged?” or “What would I do if I was in an unfamiliar city with no money?” Amira figured prison wouldn’t be all that bad, despite the dullness. As terrible as it was, she could see the appeal in sitting in some quiet place, no commitments or duties, no distractions from daily life. In her current, depressed state she thought it could be a pretty great place to slowly fade away.

Of course, real prison was nothing like Amira hoped. She had been in local jails before, no stranger to ending up on the losing end of a drunken brawl or getting caught stealing valuables. But the actual, real prison set below the Imperial City, so far, sucked. 

To start, it was not as quiet as she dreamed. The dunmer in the cell adjacent from hers babbled incessantly, day and night. Sometimes he would boast about his life. Other times he would make unwelcome lascivious remarks in her directions. From his ramblings Amira had learned his name was Valen Dreth and he had been in the prison for eleven years. Though she wasn’t in prison for murder, Valen Dreth caused Amira to consider how bad it would be for that to be added to her sentence. She came to the conclusion she would probably be executed, and shutting Dreth up wasn’t worth it that much.

The guards of the Imperial Prison didn’t seem to care for prisoners much. Often they liked to pepper their commands with insults or be more rough than necessary. Sometimes they would forget to serve dinner. Amira was no stranger to missing meals, but she wasn’t happy about it. Situated below the Imperial City, above its sewage system, at the edge of city limits directly next to a lake, Amira’s cell tended to be cold, damp and smelly. She wasn’t happy about that either.

Presently, she lay on her cell’s cot, staring at the ceiling, wondering where it all went wrong. She thought about her childhood in the Alik’r desert, how the sun would scorch the sand and make it hurt to walk on barefoot. She thought about exploring ruins and camping under the stars with her family. She thought about how funny it was that decades old memories felt fuzzy around the edges, worn like an old book. She thought, for the hundredth time that day, how much her current situation really, really sucked. 

Amira let out a long sigh and closed her eyes. Recently, she found it was very easy to fall asleep. 

 

—

After some time Valen Dreth began to yell again, jarring Amira from her sleep. Silently, she cursed him. Responding only gave Dreth his desired audience. 

“Have you died yet, Redguard?” he called out. “Don’t worry, you will. After all, nobody leaves this prison alive! You’re going to die in here, Redguard! Hehehehe!” 

_ If only _ , Amira thought. The desire to die existed at the edges of her mind, thoughts she’d rather not consider than try to deal with. Few things scared her as much as the idea of dying by her own hand did. In battle or by accident, that would be fine, that was out of her control. But to die of her own doing was a terrible ability that made Amira’s skin crawl. Wasting away in a corner of the Imperial Prison sounded much better. So far, she was doing quite well at that even if it was much more unpleasant than she expected. 

Dreth continued on as Amira tried to push the creeping thoughts from her mind. Lying still on the cot, she almost missed the sound of new voices coming down the prison’s staircase. 

“Do you hear that, Redguard?”  Dreth pushed his face between the bars, his red eyes leering into her cell. “The guards are coming… Probably for you! I knew you wouldn’t last long!” 

“ _ SH _ ,” Amira hissed at him, tilting her head to listen for the unfamiliar voices. It didn’t sound like the usual prison guards she’d come to know. 

“My sons, they’re dead aren’t they?” 

“We don’t know that Sire, the messenger only said they were attacked…” 

As they drew close, Amira could make out their conversation clearly. These voices sounded more refined, better spoken than their gruff wardens. She sat up now, muscles tensed. They were coming down the dead-end path that housed she and Dreth. Something felt very wrong. 

Torchlight illuminated the entryway, revealing the source of the voices, Amira’s eyes grew wide. The group was unlike anything she had seen before. There were three people dressed in silver and gold armor, two lead the way down the passage holding torches while one stood next to a fourth man, speaking to him sternly. The fourth man made Amira’s blood run cold. He was old yet distinguished, dressed in ornate red-and-black robes. A giant red gemstone hung around his neck, glittering fantastically in the torchlight. 

In her time as a mercenary and as a thief, Amira had become quite good at reading people. She had to be, as she didn’t like being hired to protect people who were reckless and shitty, and she didn’t like stealing from someone who had nothing valuable. Amira realized the distinguished man standing before her was more rich and more powerful than anyone she had ever met before in her fifty years of life. She was terrified. 

The distinguish man grabbed the arm of the soldier walking alongside him, causing the group to halt. He was silent for a moment, seemingly searching for words and grimaced.

“No, they’re dead. I know it.”

The soldier glanced away from the man. 

“My job right now is to keep you safe,” she replied and motioned for the group to continue down the stone hallway. 

Amira and Dreth’s cells were some of the most isolated in the prison. Situated towards the edges of the compound the two cells were in an enclave off the main bloc on a dead end hallway. As far as she knew, there was no reason for anyone to be there unless they were prisoner or guard. Especially not the strange group of people now standing in front of her cell. 

Dreth began yelling at the group, jeering at them and inquiring their intentions all in the same breath. One of the soldiers walked over and banged their armored glove on the bars, ordering him to be silent. This only encouraged Dreth, excited for a new audience to pester.

To Amira’s surprise, one of the soldiers began to unlock her cell door. Distracted by their conversation with the distinguished man and by Dreth, she realized they probably never noticed her sitting in the darkness. Too anxious to draw attention to herself, she resolved to stay silent and quietly figure out what was going on. 

Dreth, upon realizing what was about to transpire, had other plans.

“Hey!” he called out in his shrill voice. “Why does she get to go free, but a humble dumner at near the end of his sentence must sit and rot?”

“She?” the soldier stopped banging on Dreth’s cell. 

The three soldiers all turned, finally noticing the cell’s resident. Amira swallowed hard and raised a clammy hand in greeting. 

“What’s this prisoner doing here?” the soldier who consoled the man growled. “This cell is supposed to be off-limits!” 

“Usual mix up with the watch,” another replied. “It happens-”

“Never mind,” she cut him off, motioning for the one unlocking the door to continue. “Get that gate open.” 

The door unlocked with a loud  _ CLANG _ , just as it had locked on her nearly a month prior. Amira shivered at the sound. A single soldier approached Amira and unsheathed her sword, pointing it in her direction. 

“Stand back, prisoner,” he commanded. “We won’t hesitate to kill you if you get in our way.”

“I have no intention of trying anything, don’t worry,” she replied, surprised at how horse her voice had become from its lack of use. “I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t want to know.” 

“Good, then stand by that wall, below the window. Stay put.”

She complied, not wanting to put the soldier’s threat to the test. Hurriedly, the rest of the group filed in. 

“We must keep moving, Sire. We’re not out of this yet,” the female soldier tugged the man along.

The man’s steps were slow. He had been staring at the ground, lips pressed tightly together, his expression one both lost in thought and grief. Amira stared at him as he entered her dimly-lit cell. From a distance, it was difficult to tell exactly how old he was. Now that he was close Amira could see the deep wrinkles outlining his face, a mixture of age and stress. He had made many important decisions, she realized. And he wore their consequences. 

Seemingly consumed by his own situation, Amira was surprised when the man glanced at her as he passed. His tired eyes grew wide, a spark suddenly appearing where a moment before was dull. He stopped dead in his tracks, causing the soldier that had been tailing close behind to bump into him. He let out a string of flustered apologies, none of which the man noticed. In that moment, everything seemed to stop. 

“You…” he said breathlessly. “I’ve seen you…”

“Sire!” the female soldier exclaimed with surprise as he pushed past the equally surprised man that was pointing his sword at Amira.

She was frozen in place, her entire body stiffening as he grew closer. His stare was like fire burning through her skull. Amira felt blood pounding in her ears. Just a minute before she had been lying in bed resolved to quietly decay in the dark prison. Now, as the man’s pale eyes locked with hers, she felt as though the world around her was unraveling. 

“Let me see your face,” he ordered, reaching out to her. 

In the back of her mind she was aware of the soldier's protests as she stepped forward, but their voices seemed miles away. The man cupped her face in his hands. They were softer, and colder, than she expected. He inspected her, murmuring quietly to himself. She felt her cheeks burn, she grew uncomfortable but made no attempt to step back. 

“You are the one from my dreams,” he looked at her in awe. 

He looked away, his face soon troubled once again. 

“Then the stars were right, and this is the day…” he let his hands fall. “Gods give me strength.” 

Amira was wide eyed with shock, her mouth hanging open. She blinked a few times and shook her head, struggling to find her bearings.

“What… What’s going on?” She finally managed to croak. 

“I am your Emperor, Uriel Septim,” He straightened his posture. “By the grace of the Gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler. Assassins attacked my sons, and I’m next.” 

“Oh,” Amira replied. 

“My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route,” he motioned to the soldiers glaring daggers at Amira, looking only slightly more anxious than she. 

“By chance,” he continued. “The entrance to that escape route leads through your cell. Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet.” 

Amira remained silent. The female Blade that had been by his side now tugged at the Emperor’s arm.

“Please, Sire, we must keep moving,” she insisted with an edge. “We cannot waste another moment’s time here when assailants may be near.” 

“Of course, Captain Renault,” his gaze lingered on Amira for a moment longer before nodding to the Blade. “Continue forward.” 

Captain Renault stepped forward and pushed on a stone poking out from the cell wall. With a low rumble, the seemingly thick wall slid aside to reveal a dark passageway. Cool air rushed up from the corridor and wafted across Amira’s face. It smelled musty and stale, like a crypt. 

“Better keep the door open behind us,” Renault called to the other two Blades. “No other way to open from the other side.” 

As Emperor Uriel and his Blades descended into the darkness, Amira stood motionless. Her mind was blank and her entire body felt numb. If it wasn’t for the draft from the passageway, Amira would have been convinced she was dreaming. 

One of the Blades stopped in the doorway. He was the one who told Dreth to be quiet. With the torchlight illuminated his face, Amira realized he too was Redguard. 

“Must be your lucky day, prisoner,” he said, a grin cracking through his previously serious expression. “A once-in-a-lifetime shot at freedom.” 

Amira blinked.

He chuckled at her and turned away before descending down the pathway. 

Once she could no longer hear the echo of their footsteps, Amira slumped against the wall onto the floor. She held her head in her hands, staring at the stone floor in shock.

“What in the name of the Nine just happened?” she swore to herself. 

 

“You filthy rat!”

Dreth’s snarl snapped Amira back to attention. 

“Why in the Gods’ names do you get to leave? You just got here!” Drelth gripped the bars to his cell, his knuckles turning white as he screeched at the stunned Amira.

“I’ve rotted in this hole for eleven forsaken years, and you get to leave just like that? Like shit! Guards, guards!”

Drelth’s irritatingly familiar voice finally brought Amira back to reality. As he screamed for the wardens, she turned her gaze from him back to the newly-revealed passageway. Feeling returned to her arms, then her legs, and Amira stood up with newfound resolve.

“Why am I sitting here?” she asked herself. Suddenly she burst into laughter.

Leaving the sounds of Drelth’s caterwauling and her damp cell behind, Amira began her descent into the darkness to follow the Emperor and his Blades. 


	2. Below the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amira follows the Emperor and his Blades into the cavernous ruins below the Imperial City

It didn’t take long for Amira to catch up with the Emperor and his entourage. The Blades drew their swords on her approach, expecting an assassin, but sheathed upon realizing. The Redguard and Emperor Uriel smiled, appearing pleased she decided to follow. Captain Renault and the Blade that originally ordered her to stand against the wall viewed her skeptically. 

“Keep quiet and stay out of our way,” Captain Renault warned. Amira nodded and fell in step a few paces behind their line.  
Everyone familiar with the Imperial City knew something about its history. Located in the center of Cyrodiil, it was the capital of both the providence and the entire Imperial Empire. Its ruler was Emperor Uriel Septim VII, the man now waking briskly ahead of Amira. Though she understood this to be true, after all he certainly appeared to be the Emperor, she hadn’t quite processed the thought. 

The City was a shining gem tucked between the rolling green hills of Cyrodiil’s countryside. It was built upon, and often times among, ruins of an ancient group of elves known as the Ayleids. The Ayleids constructed the crown jewel of the Imperial City, the White-Gold Tower, through the slave labor of subjugated human-folk. Uprisings in the First Era ended the Ayleid rule and lead to their extinction. Above ground in the present-day Imperial City, the Ayleid influence could be seen buried deep below the hundreds of years of history build upon it by Imperials.

The escape tunnel, however, was one of the few Ayleid-era ruins to still exist in the City. Dust and cobwebs covered the once-dazzling marble archways, while water from the nearby shore dripped from the ceiling, eroding away intricate carvings. 

Having grown up in the Alik’r desert, Amira was no stranger to exploring long-abandoned ruins. But something about this Ayleid ruin was so well hidden below the most populated city in all of Cyrodiil made her shiver. It was, for lack of a better term, creepy. 

Distracted by her thoughts, Amira nearly jumped when the Redguard Blade tapped her shoulder.  
“Strange turn of events, isn’t it?” he smiled. “Sitting in your cell as a degenerate one moment, the next the Ruler of the Imperial Empire appears and says you’re the woman of his dreams!”  
Amira glanced forward at the other Blades. They were describing what their plan after finding the exit to the Emperor.  
“Yeah, strange,” she replied. That was putting it lightly.  
He studied her for a moment. Amira glanced away, suddenly unable to meet his eye. Her skittishness made him chuckle.  
“I’m Baurus, the Emperor’s personal bodyguard, by the way,” he offered a hand to her.  
She shook it, still not meeting his eye. “Amira Halgal.”  
“You already know the Emperor. The confident woman by his side is Captain Renault, and the Emperor’s second bodyguard Glenroy,” he motioned to each and Amira nodded.

Amira studied Baurus’ outfit. His armor was intricate and simple at the same time, with detailed gold accenting plainly tempered steel. The sword Baurus and the other Blades were carrying was not your usual mercenary or guard arms. It was long and slightly curved, similar to the Alik’r scimitar, but much thinner. Baurus caught Amira staring and pat the weapon at his side.  


“This is an Akaviri Katana, the traditional weapon of the Blades,” he explained proudly.  
“Looks sharp,” she said, gaining another chuckle from Baurus. Her cheeks burned.  
“Baurus, forgive me if I sound dull,” Amira frowned. “But what are the Blades? I don’t recall ever hearing about your order before.”  
“Good!” He laughed. “That means we’re doing our job!”  
Amira tilted her head, puzzled. Baurus continued.  
“Us Blades are the personal bodyguards of the Dragonborn Emperors of Tamriel. But only a few of us, like Captain Renault, Glenroy and myself, serve the throne openly. Members of our order exist all across Tamriel in secret, acting as the eyes and ears of the Emperor. We do everything in our power to keep the Emperor safe.”  


“Hm,” she thought for a moment. “Sounds… Interesting. Is that why you’re will the Emperor now?”  
“Yes,” Baurus’s smile fell, his voice suddenly grave. “Before first light this morning, assassins infiltrated the White-Gold Tower and… felled Emperor Septim’s sons. We failed them. We will not fail again.”  
“Oh,” Amira replied quietly.  
“You two, quiet down back there,” Captain Renault ordered. “Baurus, I know you’re nervous, but we must focus on the task at hand. Do not distract yourself with that prisoner.”  
“Yes, Captain,” Baurus nodded and jogged ahead to rejoin the group.  


Amira stayed behind. She studied the Emperor again, who’s back was now to her. He certainly wasn’t dressed for escaping, wearing fine silks and furs. From time to time, the group would have to stop momentarily for the Emperor to lean against a wall and catch his breath. Though he was still a distinguished looking figure, his old age betrayed his frailty.  


_They really were caught off guard,_ Amira thought during one of their stops. The Emperor had to sit down this time, helped to a toppled column by Glenroy. They had stopped in a white stone antechamber, whose ceiling stretched far up into the shadows. Hundreds of years ago, bridges would connect passageways above them. Now those structures were rubble around them, darkened doorways above empty. As confusing as Alyeid ruins tended to be, on the ground floor where the group currently reside, there was only one way in and out. Baurus and Captain Renault stood guard near each entryway.  


As the Emperor sat panting, he clutched the massive red gemstone around his neck tightly. Amira noticed he would do that from time to time while they were running. He would touch it every few moments, checking to see if it was still there.  


_Because it’s so expensive?_ She wondered to herself. Somehow, that didn’t feel quite right. The Emperor seemed to be protecting his stone as much as the Blades were protecting him.  


From her post, Captain Renault suddenly straightened up and put a hand in the air. A signal to Wait. Baurus and Glenroy stood at attention, hands on the hilt of their katanas. Amira froze, listening for any sign of movement. The stone ruins were silent, except for the sound of Uriel’s breathing.  


Suddenly, from the shadows above fell a red-robed figure. In a puff of red smoke, the simple robes transformed to don silvery armor. The face of the figure was hidden behind a grotesque metal mask, and in its hand gripped a spiked club.  


“Shit!” Renault swore and rushed forward, her katana readied. “Protect the Emperor!”  


Baurus and Glenroy sprung forward, but before they reached Renault’s side two more red figures descended from the shadows above.  
“Captain! Above you!” Baurus called to her.  
As Captain Renault turned to look towards Baurus, one of the falling assailants brought its club down on Renault’s head with a sickening CRACK. She crumpled to the ground in a spray of crimson.  


“NO!” Glenroy cried. Tightening his grip on his weapon, he rushed forward and plunged his blade deep into the chest of Renault’s killer. The silvery armor disappeared in another puff of red smoke, and the robe figure fell limp.  
Baurus snarled slashed at the assailant that Renault originally targeted. The two locked arms, the spiked club catching Baurus’s katana. His opponent attempted to twist the mace and pry the blade from Baurus’s hands, but the Redguard was ready to counter. Baurus let go of his blade, unbalancing his surprised opponent, and lashed out a kick to his abdomen. The hooded figured groaned and fell to the ground. Baurus regained his katana before the figure could scramble to his feet, and the Redguard brought the blade down, freeing the assailant’s head from his neck. It tumbled away.  


Amira watched it all wide eyed. She was no stranger to fighting and dying, but she was frozen in place. The three red-robed figures that fell from the sky suddenly made the situation real. She was in the dark ruins far below the Imperial City with three - no, now two - mysterious, highly trained Imperial agents on the run from some murderous group of shadowy figures that were trying as damned as they could to kill the leader of most powerful Empire on Tamriel, perhaps all of Nirn, Emperor Uriel Septim VII…  


_Oh Gods, the Emperor!_ Amira whipped her head around, searching for Uriel. He had fallen from the column he was resting on, a feeble arm raised to defend himself from the third red-robed figure that had fallen from above. The figure was racing towards the Emperor, mace raised high, ready to bring it down on the Emperor’s head.  


“Shit,” Amira was on her feet, running for Uriel.  


“Shit, shit, shit, shit SHIT!” she screamed as she leapt over Uriel, who let out a cry in surprise as she tackled the robed assailant to the ground.  
 _Oh shit, oh Gods, oh shit what am I doing?_ Her mind raced as she struggled to pin the figure to the floor, straddling their waist. Despite the imposing armor and mace, the assailant was weaker than Amira anticipated. Fortunately, tackling them to the ground knocked the spiked mace out of their hand and far from reach. Unfortunately, this left Amira with no weapons and no way to disable the screaming, writhing figure below her.  


_Unless…_ Amira glanced at her arm. Prisoners that stayed in the Imperial Prison were outfitted with iron wrist shackles from time-to-time, just to make their stay that much more uncomfortable. _Blunt, probably heavy enough. If I’m was quick enough, I could free my hand and-_  


Before she could finish the thought, Glenroy stalked over and plunged his katana into the pinned figure’s neck. Like the other felled assassins, the conjured metal armor disappeared into a puff of red smoke. On top of the assassin, who’s mask now disappeared, Amira viewed the assailant face-to-face. She was an Imperial, no older than thirty, with blood now pouring out of her neck. The assassin glared at Amira, her eyes filled with hatred, but her lips twisted into a vicious smile.  
“Lord Dagon… Will welcome… your soul…. In Oblivion!” she hissed, red foamy blood bubbling from her mouth and garbling her words. Only when the body went limp did Amira finally stumble off it, the assassin’s final words ringing in her ears.  


The Emperor kneeled next to Captain Renault’s body. Amira drew her attention away from the dead assassin and watched the Emperor fold Renault’s lifeless hands across her chest. It was a gentle gesture. Amira and the two surviving Blades watched in silence.  


“Sire…” Baurus stood next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. His voice was strained as he looked at Captain Renault. “We have to keep moving.”  


“Dammit, we have to take care of something first,” Glenroy growled. He stalked up to Amira and grabbed her by the collar of her ragged shirt. She pulled away, surprised, but he tightened his grip.  


“This prisoner just so happened to be in the cell with the Blade’s secret escape route, who just so happened to accompany us down into the ruins, where coincidently we were ambushed by the Mythic Dawn?” he glared at Amira. “It’s all too convenient for me.”  
“Wait, hold on, I promise, I’m,” Amira’s weak protests were cut off as Glenroy pushed her back into a stone column. He pressed his forearm against her neck, tightening her breath.  
“We should kill her now, and be done with it!”  
Amira opened her mouth, but struggled to find the breath to protest. Glenroy started to unsheathe his katana.  
“No,” Uriel’s commanding voice echoed within the stone antechamber. Glenroy froze.  
“She is not one of them,” he continued firmly. “She can help us. She must help us.”  
Glenroy looked over his shoulder at the Emperor, shocked. “But, Sire…”  
“I’m ordering you, Glenroy. Unhand her.”  


Glenroy pressed Amira for a moment longer before dropping his arm. She leaned against the cool stone to catch her breath. Glenroy leered at her before letting out a sigh and stepping back.  


The Emperor came forward and crouched next to Amira. Though they had been traveling through the winding Aleyid ruins for some time now, she tensed up at his presence like she had when they first met. Something about him put her off, not in a distrust-worthy way. In fact, Amira found herself drawn to protecting him. After all, she just bum-rushed an assassin. But Uriel exerted some kind of pressure in the room, he gave off an air of wisdom far beyond his years. It felt like he knew more secrets than anyone else on Nirn.

  


“They cannot understand why I trust you,” he spoke to Amira in a soft voice. “They’ve not seen what I’ve seen…”  
He helped Amira to her feet, motioning for the group to continue. Casting a final glance at Captain Renault’s body, he held Amira’s arm as they walked forward.

  


“I’ve served the Nine all my days, I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens,” he explained. “The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well. The signs I read show the end of my path.”  
“The… End of your path?” Amira frowned. Baurus and Glenroy turned away, hiding their expression.  
“Yes,” he nodded. “My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come. I knew that the moment I saw you.”  
“Me? Why me?”  
“As I said, you are the one from my dreams,” the corridor tightened and Uriel drew closer to Amira’s side. “My dreams grant me no options of success. Their compass ventures not beyond the doors of death. But in your face, I behold the sun’s companion. The dawn of Akatosh’s bright glory may banish the coming darkness.”  


Amira fell silent. She considered her face, and all the history upon it. A long childhood in the Alik’r desert under the unforgiving sun blessed her with dark skin, the envy of her kinsfolk. Wandering Tamriel through her teens and adulthood left her with many battle scars. A nicked eyebrow, a crooked nose, crescent scar across her cheek. She wore a history of odd jobs, mercenary-for-hire and a few larcenies here and there across her features. As she approached old age, wrinkles developed in the space between her eyebrows, corners of her brown eyes and the dimples crowning her lips. She loved them, when she laughed or frowned the wrinkles made her expressions dramatic and impactful.

  


She touched her face and wondered how true Uriel’s words could be. She was fifty years old, and while she was by no means an elder she felt just a few hours before that her life was approaching its end. After all, that was why she turned herself into the Imperial Guards to be thrown in prison in the first place. She decided to repent for a string of rather expensive robberies a couple decades before, knowing full well she would spend the rest of her life in jail. But she had been so tired of life, of living. In her mind, rotting away would be the perfect end to what she viewed as an overall wasteful life. But hearing Uriel speak, something stirred in Amira.

  


They walked together for some time as Amira considered his words. When she built up the courage, she finally asked him a question she had long struggled with.  
“Are you afraid to die?”  
He smiled.  


“I won’t be remembered as a great Emperor. I have no trophies, no triumphs. But I lived well, and for that I will rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood, they know their doom but not the hour. In this I am blessed to see the hour of my death. To face my appointed fate, then fall.  
“Today, the stars shall guide your steps on the road to destiny,” he looked at her, his eyes soft. “With such hope and promise of your aid, my heart will be satisfied. My ghost shall rest easy.”

  


“What is it you shall want me to do?” Amira asked.  
“You shall follow me, for a while. Then we must part.”

  


The two fell silent again. Baurus glanced over his shoulder and gave Amira a sad look. She frowned at him and looked away. Part of her didn’t want to believe what Uriel was saying. It was an overwhelming idea, to think her fate was in the hands of the Nine. It made little sense to her, having spent her life so insignificantly. Why would the Gods bother with she?

  


Yet, in her heart, Amira knew Uriel was telling the truth. She could feel it even now as they made their way through the ruins. They were approaching destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I've had an awful time trying to wrestle with importing my fics from google drive to Ao3 so apologies for any formatting issues!


	3. Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amira, the Emperor and the Blades reach the end of the escape route.

“Glenroy, you take the head. I’ll follow up the rear,” Baurus ordered. “Amira, you might as well make yourself useful. Here, take this torch and Captain Renault’s katana.”

Amira nodded, securing the katana to her waist. It was lighter than an iron sword or scimitar, surprising for its long length. She went to take the torch from Baurus but paused.

“Something wrong?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh well,” Amira stammered and awkwardly motioned at iron bracers around her wrists. “It’d difficult to hold with these. They need two hands to be taken off.”

Glenroy narrowed his eyes at Amira, but Baurus smirked. He helped remove the bracers, letting them fall to the floor. They had been on for so long Amira’s arms felt lighter than air, an odd sensation.

Baurus tightened his grip on Amira’s arm.

“Listen, you have no idea how dire of a situation we’re in,” he frowned. “You’re no Blade, but use that katana to guard the Emperor with your life. Do you understand?”

Amira glanced at the Emperor then back to Baurus and nodded slowly.

“Good,” he released and handed her the torch. Rubbing her wrist, she took it and the group continued on. 

_Protect the Emperor with your life._

—

As they near the end of one of the long corridors, the sound of hushed voices drifted down the corridor. Glenroy motioned for them to slow down, quietly creeping forward.

Sticking close to the wall, Glenroy peered around the corner. Inside the room was a pair of Mythic Dawn assassins, murmuring to each other. Glenroy nodded to Baurus. Amira moved closer to the Emperor, hand on her new weapon, ready to defend.

The two slipped into the room. Despite their metal armor, the two Blades were able to move silently from column to column. Undetected, they deftly unsheathed their katanas and cut down the unsuspecting foes.

“Wow,” Amira murmured.

Baurus motioned for Amira and the Emperor to come forward, and they hurried to the Blades’ side.

“For assassins targeting the ruler of the Imperial Empire, these assassins are a lot less dexterous than I’d expect,” Amira commented. The two fresh corpses were similar to the one Glenroy had dispatched under Amira. They all looked fairly young and slight, not muscular mercenaries or skilled killers.

“Don’t underestimate them,” Glenroy warned. “Mythic Dawn members are skilled conjurers and experts in illusion. What they lack in strength they make up in cunning.”

“Their presence this deep into the ruins is concerning,” Baurus added. “We need to keep alert.”

“But, what is the Mythic Dawn anyway?” she asked.

Glenroy shook his head.

“There’s no time for that, now. We need to keep moving,” he began to continue forward, with Uriel and Baurus following suit. “We’re nearly at the sewer entrance. Once we get there we can meet up with fellow Blades in the countryside and get the Emperor to safety. We’ll have time to talk then.”

Amira nodded, slightly embarrassed at her own question but satisfied with Glenroy’s response. After all, he was right. The Emperor was still in danger. But the words he had whispered to her earlier still played in the back of her mind. He seemed so sure of his fate, but the Blades seemed determined for things to go otherwise.

Soon the group reached a chamber larger than the others. For the first time, there were three passageways to follow rather than the line of rooms they had been filing through previously. In the distance, Amira heard the sound of running water. The smell of sewage wafted in the stale air.

“Hold,” Glenroy raised a hand, motioning for the group to pause. “I don’t like the look of this. Let me take a look.”

Hand on his katana, he ventured further into the large chamber. He scanned the entrances for signs of disturbance. Satisfied everything was in tact, he relaxed his posture and motioned for them to come forward.

“Looks like the coast is clear,” he said. “Come, the sewers should be right through this door…”

Glenroy pulled on the handle of the metal grate blocking their path. It didn’t budge.

“Dammit!” Glenroy growled and pulled his katana from the sheathe. “It’s barred from the other side!”

“What about the side passage, over there?” Baurus pointed at one of the other two unblocked passageways.

“Worth a try, lets go!” Glenroy ordered. Baurus and Amira fell close to the Emperor and the group rushed forward down the path. But as they rounded the corner from the entrance, Amira felt her heart drop into her stomach.

“It’s a dead end,” Baurus said through gritted teeth. “What now?”

Footsteps, separate from their own, echoed in the previous chamber.

“They’re behind us! It was a trap!” Glenroy bristled and raced back down the hallway, weapon readied for battle. “Watch your back, Baurus!”

“Stay with the Emperor, guard him with your life!” Baurus instructed Amira, then ran to Glenroy’s aid. “For the Emperor!”

Amira’s heart thundered in her chest and she unsheathed the katana. Suddenly, the sword felt heavy in her hands. She stood ready at the entrance.

“D-Don’t worry, Sire,” Amira squared her stance. “I know I’m no Blade, but I’ll try my best to protect you. Like Baurus said, this is my second chance!

“Amira.”

The edge in Uriel’s tone jarred her. When she turned to face him, his pale eyes were full of fire.

“I can go no further. You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants,” he removed the red stone from around his neck and pressed it into the palm of her hand. “He must not have the Amulet of Kings. Take the Amulet. Give it to Jauffre. He alone knows where to find my last son.”

He closed Amira’s hand around the stone and stared deep into her eyes, looking through her to something far beyond.

“Find him. Close shut the jaws of Oblivion.”

“But,” Amira tried to protest, when movement caught her eye.

Everything moved in slow motion. The stone wall behind the Emperor slid aside, and through it came one of the Mythic Dawn assassins. Amira’s mouth moved, she tried to scream “ _NO_ ,” to will her blade to move fast enough. But it was too late.

Before the assassin’s blade was plunged deep into Uriel’s back, he smiled at Amira. The calmness in his expression sent chills down her spine.

_I am blessed to see the hour of my death._

Time caught up with her, adrenaline surging through her veins. Her arm brought the deadly blade of the katana down the assassin’s chest with ease. He sputtered, the metal armor dissipating from around him. He cast Amira a wicked grin as he fell against the wall.

“Stranger,” he cackled. “You chose a bad day to take up the cause of the Septims.”

Amira screamed at him, her mind flooded with rage. She pulled her sword back, then brought it through the center of his chest. A viciously satisfying spray of blood surged out. His smug, victorious expression stayed on his face though his life left him.

Amira wanted to stab him again and again, though she knew it would amount to nothing. She turned to the now-lifeless body of Uriel and fell to her knees.

“No…”

Baurus stood in the doorway, his face pale. Amira looked up at him helplessly, but he stared at the Emperor.

“Talos save us…” his voice cracked as he stumbled into the room. “We’ve failed. I’ve failed. The Blades are sworn to protect the Emperor, and now he and all his heirs are dead.”

“Wait,” Baurus dropped his katana and knelt next to the Emperor, touching his chest. “The Amulet, where’s the Amulet of Kings?”

Amira silently held it up in her hand. She had gripped it so tightly it cut into her palms. Yet any pain was detached from her. She felt empty.

“He gave it to you,” Baurus trialed off, then stood up with a sad smile. “Strange, he saw something in you. Trusted you. Dragon blood runs through Septim veins, people say it lets them see things other men can’t.

“The Amulet has power. Only a true heir of the Blood can wear it, they say. Most people don’t realize it, but that’s the true symbol of the Empire. If he gave it to you, he must have had a reason.”

“He said I to take it to Jauffre,” Amira replied in a quiet voice.

“Jauffre?” Baurus was surprised. “He’s the Grandmaster of my Order. But he lives in secret as a monk. Why him?”

“He said,” she struggled to tear her gaze away from the corpse. “He said there’s another heir.”

“Another heir… huh,” Baurus trailed off.

He backed up and shook his head, as if it get his bearings. He dropped on a knee next to Amira and took her hand.

“Amira, you must find Jauffre. He’ll be in the Weynon Priory, near the city of Chorrol.”

“Me?” Amira grimaced. “Baurus, I can’t. I just failed Uriel once, I can’t be trusted-”

“Yes you _can_ ,” he frowned. “The Emperor saw something in you. He knew he would die here. We all knew, though we tried our best to save him. Somehow, this was all par of his plan… or at least, the Nine’s.”

He took a small drawstring purse out of his hip-pack and handed it to Amira.

“You need to go to Weynon Prior and find Jauffre. I’ll stay here to take care of the Emperor’s body… and Glenroy’s and Renault’s,” he stood up, looking determined. “If you don’t want to fail the Emperor again, you must do as he instructed you. Please, Amira.”

She didn’t move. Her head was reeling. That morning she had woken up in a dank prison cell, and now she was being asked to carry out a task given by the deceased Emperor? It was all too much.

“Please, Amira,” Baurus’s pleading broke her train of thought.

Amira drew in a deep breath, dust and blood-tinged air filling her lungs. With a long sigh, she took to her feet and nodded.

“Thank you,” he gave her a small smile.

“Yeah,” she didn’t meet his eyes, busying herself with securing the katana to her waist. “Honestly, not like I have any other choice.”

“Whatever your reasoning may be, I still appreciate your deeds.”

“I suppose I’m off then,” she slipped the Amulet of Kings into her pocket. “I should be able to make it out through the sewers, correct?”

“When the Mythic Dawn ambushed us, they came through the locked door,” Baurus explained. “That’ll take you to the sewers. From there, continue down the righthand path and you’ll find yourself on the northern coast. Chorrol is due west.”

“Got it,” she said.

“And Amira?”

“Yes?”

“Be safe.”

“You too, Baurus,” she gave him a tired smile. Taking a final look at the Emperor’s now-quiet face, Amira walked across the bloodied chamber and made her way to the sewers.


	4. The Priory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally out of prison and reinvigorated with a budding sense of purpose, Amira races to Chorrol to follow the last words of the Emperor.

The Imperial sewers were only marginally better than the Ayleid ruins, yet somehow remarkably nicer than the Imperial Prison. Despite it smelling like shit, being covered in shit and being home to a large colony of rats, Amira felt more alive wading through the scum-covered terrain than she had in months. Perhaps it was because of the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, but for the first time in a long time Amira realized she had a purpose. People were relying on her. They _needed_ her.

Of course, this was also terrifying. A few times during her trek she had to pause for a second to calm herself down and keep the crushing tide of anxiety from swallowing her whole. While she was still processing exactly what the hell happened in the escape route beneath the Imperial City, there were some facts Amira was sure of.

1) She had met Emperor Uriel Septim VII.

2) The Emperor felt Amira had some sort of predetermined destiny that involved him dying.

3) The Emperor was dead.

4) Amira escaped from prison.

She shivered at that last thought. This was not at all the plan she had envisioned for herself. If she had only been in a different cell she would have quietly faded away, died and became one of the prisons many ghostly residents. And yet…

Amira was glad she survived.

That thought caused Amira to slow down yet again. She was, truly, glad she survived. It was an unusual feeling for her. For so long she was determined to die or disappear, and in that moment she was glad to be alive. The thought made her laugh uncomfortably to herself. It was a lot to take in.

At the same time, Amira was aware she had little choice in the current events. As she pushed on ahead through the sewer, she saw small encampments made by the poor and by citizens not-too-right with the law. If she wanted, she could have taken her freedom right there, join them, sell the Amulet of Kings and live out the rest of her life comfortably in some far away place like Elsweyr. But in her heart, she knew that wouldn’t be possible. She certainly had the physical ability to, nor would she feel guilt, but a new feeling stirred in her stomach. A sense of duty? Honor? She wasn’t sure. But presently, she felt dedicated to her task. She would complete it by any means necessary.

At long last, after cutting through countless large rats, Amira reached the end of the sewers. Beyond the metal grate she could see a pinpoint of light. A warm, gentle breeze drifted past.

Pushing aside the door with a grunt, she made her way out of the darkness of the sewers. Midday sunlight warmed her skin. Amira put up a hand for cover as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. Before her stretched part of Lake Rumare, a body of water that encircled the Imperial City, connecting it down to the Topal Sea. Beyond it was the rolling green hills of Cyrodiil’s heartland. The early rains during Second Seed allowed flowers and plants to flourish. The colorful vegetation looked beautiful in the daylight.

Amira stood at the end of the sewer pipe for what felt like ages. She had never taken the time before to appreciate how beautiful the land was. Now, emerging from the darkness it offered her a moment of respite from all the thoughts swirling in her head. But soon reality returned, and with it came the reminder of her task.

“Okay, Amira,” she said to herself, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

——

Chorrol was a quiet town in the north of Cyrodiil, close to the Hammerfell border. Amira had passed through the town many times over the years as she traveled between Cyrodiil and her home providence. The priory sat to the south of the town, a small settlement with a communal house, stable and chapel. Amira arrived late in the afternoon, just as the sun began to burn orange in the sky.

Trudging up the path through the Great Forest was blessedly uneventful, but as Amira drew close to the property the weight of the day’s event suddenly crashed down around her. She was exhausted. Hoping to resolve this quickly, Amira trotted up the stone-and-dirt path and looked around. An Imperial dressed in brown monk robes stood by the stable, tending to a painted horse.

“Ah, excuse me,” Amira approached the man with a wave.

He turned to her. His face was round and kind, but regarded Amira with skepticism. She glanced down at her clothes and grimaced. After a day of fighting and stomping through the sewers, her prison-issue rags were more tattered, stained and smelly than usual. Her long, dark hair stuck out wildly from its twisted bun, and she looked visibly exhausted. Her destitute appearance was offset only by the beautifully crafted Akaviri katana, standard-issue in the Blades, that hung at her side. It was certainly a bizarre, if not suspicious, sight.

“Um, please excuse my appearance,” Amira stammered to the monk, now frowning at her. “Look, I’m here on request of the Emperor and I-”

“Of course you are, ma’am,” the monk said gently, slowly backing away from Amira. “I’m sure you were. Now if you would excuse me for just a moment.”

“No, I’m serious! Wait!” Amira pulled the Amulet of Kings from her pocket. “He gave me this with the orders to find Jauffre!”

The monk stopped in his tracks, eyes widening at the sight of the Amulet. His mouth hung open, though no words came out. After blinking a few time, he sputtered, trying to collect himself.

“I sincerely apologize, ma’am,” he bowed to her. “P-Please, follow me. Jauffre will want to see you at once.”

Amira nodded and followed the anxious monk to the priory common house. It was a simple, but cozy building. A fireplace sat in the middle of the room where a young friar was preparing kindling for the night. Amira was lead up a set of wooden stairs, into a study. Rows of books lined the stone walls, an impressive library for a settlement of its size. An older man sat behind a wooden desk, lost in a copy of _Mixed Unit Tactics_.

“Brother Jauffre,” the monk meekly called. “Excuse me, Brother Jauffre?”

The man looked up at the second calling of his name. He looked Amira over, looking slightly annoyed at the two for interrupting his meeting. At the sight of Amira’s katana, though, he raised an eyebrow.

“Brother Piner, who is this guest you have brought to us?” he asked, placing his book down on the desk.

“I… Actually, I don’t know,” Piner stumbled, glancing at Amira. “But she has something you need to see!”

Jauffre looked amused at Piner, and waved at Amira to speak. She stepped forward

“My name is Amira Halgal,” she began. “I was by Emperor Uriel’s side when he died. He sent me to find you.”

“The Emperor has passed?” Piner gasped. Jauffre frowned disapprovingly, silencing him.

“Surely that cannot be all. Why did he send you to me?” Jauffre asked.

“There were two things,” Amira pulled the Amulet from her pocket and presented it to Jauffre. “First, he said to bring the you the Amulet of Kings.”

“By the Nine,” Jauffre swore, holding the Amulet delicately in his hands. “Then… Uriel truly passed.”

He returned his attention to Amira, eyes narrowed. “You better start explaining yourself.”

Amira recounted the earlier events in full detail, explaining to Jauffre how she and the Emperor met, his prophecy, and how he died. By the end of her story the sun had slipped behind the mountains, the room was illuminated only by candle and firelight. When she finished, Amira leaned against the wall while Jauffre stared at the floor in silence. Somehow, recounting the day exhausted her even further.

When Jauffre finally spoke it was with a sigh.

“As unlikely as your story sounds,” he began, rising from his chair. “I believe you. Only the strange destiny of Uriel Septim could have brought you to me, carrying the Amulet of Kings.”

He began to descend down the stairs, waving a hand for her to follow.

“Please, sir, if you will,” Amira trotted after him. “I have so many questions. What did the Emperor mean when he said ‘Close shut the jaws of Oblivion’? What’s my place in all this?”

“To be honest, I’m unsure,” Jauffre walked up to a cauldron bubbling over the roaring fire and picked up a wooden bowl. Into it he poured ladleful of soup, handing it to Amira. The smell of the food hit her, and her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten in over a day. Jauffre took a seat at a table with his own bowl. Amira sat across and began to eat ravenously.

“It seems the Emperor foresaw some threat from the demonic world of Oblivion,” Jauffre explained. “The Prince of Destruction, Mehrunes Dagon, is one of the daedric lords of Oblivion. However, Nirn is protected from the daedra by magical barriers. Though lesser daedra may be summoned regularly, or the lords themselves on their summoning day, they wouldn’t be able to manifest themselves in a way that would present a wide-scale threat mortals.”

“Why would the Emperor warn us of its threat, then?” she asked, then tipped the bowl to her lips to devour the last bit of soup.

“Before that, Miss Halgal, would you like more stew?” Jauffre asked, amused at her enthusiasm for dinner despite their situation. She nodded and Jauffre waved Brother Piner over to bring more.

“The Amulet of Kings is an ancient relic, passed down from ruler to ruler since the founding of the First Empire, when Saint Alessia received it directly from the gods,” Jauffre placed his own bowl aside. “When an Emperor is crowned, he uses the Amulet to light the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City…”

He trailed off as he noticed Amira looking at him, quizzically.

“Well, never mind all that,” he shook his head. “The important part is with the Emperor dead, and no new heir crowned, the Dragonfires will fall dark. If the Emperor entrusted you to bring the Amulet to me, it may be that the Dragonfires protected us from some distant threat. I fear we may find out soon.”

Amira had slowed down while he spoke and now drew circles in her broth with the spoon.

“Jauffre, there was a second thing Uriel spoke of before he died,” she bit her lip. “He asked me to find his son.”

Jauffre didn’t reply, though he cracked a sad smile. He stood up from the table and began towards the fireplace in the center of the room. Amira followed.

“I am one of the few who know of his existence,” Jauffre gazed into the warm hearth, crackling and popping as it devoured fresh wood. “One night, years ago, Uriel called me to his private chamber. A baby boy lay sleeping in a basket. Uriel told me to deliver him somewhere safe. He never said it, but I knew it was his son. From time to time he would ask about the child. Now it seems the boy is heir to the Septim throne.”

“Wow,” Amira murmured. “Here I thought my day was unbelievable.”

“Indeed,” Jauffre chuckled and began to move again. He lead Amira to the priory’s sleeping chamber, just off from the main hall.

“But that will be for tomorrow. Tonight, you should rest. You’ve gone through much today Miss Halgal, and if you are to retrieve the young heir you should be well prepared,” he directed her to an empty bed with green sheets. It looked soft, filled with hay, nothing like the stiff prison cot she had slept on the past month.

“Thank you, Jauffre,” Amira replied, sitting on the bed’s edge. Her muscles ached from being tensed all day and she felt as though she could melt into the beckoning mattress.

“Of course. Tomorrow you should set out for the city of Kvatch, south of here. Go to the Chapel of Akatosh and find a man named Martin. He is the one we seek,” Jauffre moved to the door. “Prior Maborel has a horse you may use, and Prior Piner will see to finding you some proper armor.”

“I appreciate that,” Amira smiled, grateful to be free of her tattered rags.

“Rest well, Miss Halgal. And may the Nine bless you.”

“You too.”

Once the door closed Amira sank into the bed and let out a long sigh. Up to that point her mind was spinning with thoughts, but as soon as her head hit the pillow her mind quieted. Her eyelids grew heavy, and in the warm safety of the priory she quickly fell into a deep sleep.


	5. Kvatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amira arrives at Kvatch, only the city's not as she expected

When Amira was in prison, she would sleep for most the day. There wasn’t much else for her to do there, besides listen to Dreth’s jabbering or pace around her cell. So instead she would sleep for hours on end. In fact, the previous day had been the longest she had been awake in two weeks. She always seemed to be tired, no matter how long she slept, so she took comfort in sleeping, in dreaming. When she was asleep she didn’t have to bother with the worries of the world.

Unfortunately, when morning broke in the priory, Amira was dragged back into the waking world by sounds of shouting. She lay in the soft bed, groggy, listening to the panicked voices. In prison, living next to a hundred other unhappy individuals, she had learned to block out most shouting and screaming while sleeping. Even though she knew she was in a different place, and based off the dire situation from yesterday knew whatever the shouting was its probably wasn’t good, she savored one final, blessed moment in the soft bed. Finally sitting up she sighed, stretched her back, and readied herself to face the day.

Amira made her way to the common room of the priory, where she found a panicked Prior Piner explaining something to Jauffre. The two turned when she entered, Jauffre’s face looked grave.

“Miss Halgal, good you’ve awoken,” Jauffre went over and took Amira by the hand, leading her up the stairs to the library. “We haven’t much time, you must get to Kvatch as soon as possible.”

“What happened?” she asked, frowning.

“It seems the enemy was aware of Martin’s existence,” He explained, hanging Amira a set of of leather armor. “I don’t know the details, but Kvatch was attacked during the night.”

“Damn,” Amira sighed.

“Indeed. Hurry now to Kvatch, find Martin and bring him back to the priory,” Jauffre said. “And be ready for anything. It’s likely that whoever attacked Kvatch is still present in the city. Be careful.”

“Thank you, Jauffre. I will,” Amira nodded and left with the armor.

—

The air was still chilled with early morning dew when Amira emerged from the priory. It was Second Seed, late spring. Amira took a deep breath of the clear air and shivered. Though cool, the wind sent a surge of energy through her. She missed the smell of fresh air.

She mad her way to the stable, where Prior Maborel was waiting with his horse. With new leather armor, her hair pulled back into a tight twisted-bun and Akaviri katana at her hip, she looked more impressive than the day before. Maborel nodded to her and brought the painted horse she had seen yesterday to her side.

“Thank you, sir,” Amira smiled and hoisted herself onto the steed. She took a moment to adjust herself and the horse. It was a pretty, strong animal. While she personally preferred riding camels, she had a love for horses. After her long excursion the day prior, she was especially grateful to be using one that day.

“It will be faster if you go directly south from the priory, through the forest,” Maborel explained, making one last check on Amira’s saddle. “Eventually, you’ll hit the main road right outside Skingrad. Follow it west and it will bring you to Kvatch.”

Amira nodded. With a gentle kick to the horse’s side, they trotted down the stone path and began their descent into the Great Forest.

—

The ride progressed without incident, and Amira reached the main road outside Skingrad just after noon. As she road she would pass the occasional traveller or soldier patrol and notice herself tensing up.

 _Calm, Amira_ , she thought to herself, letting out a breath as she passed another horse-mounted patrol going the opposite way. The soldier smiled and nodded at her, and she returned with an awkward smile of her own. There was no way anybody else could know she was technically an escaped convict, or that she had a literal life-or-death mission that couldn’t be interrupted, but she couldn’t she the feeling of anxiety that took her.

 _What about Jauffre?_ Eventually he would ask about her background, ask why she was in prison. Would he judge her? What about Baurus? So far they had been kind and accepting, but she figured it couldn’t last forever. And what was she to do after they didn’t need her anymore?

She took a deep breath and shook her head. None of this was her concern right now. All she had to do was focus on finding Martin. After all, why should she care? She didn’t asked to be put in that position, she didn’t even need to be finding this Martin fellow anyway. If they found her history offensive, she could just run away, leave them with their Mythic Dawn and their cryptic dreams and…

“Okay, okay no this isn’t helping,” Amira grumbled and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Relax, let’s just get this man, go, and figure things out from there. Focus on getting Martin right now.”

Kvatch was a beautiful city in the Gold Coast region of western Cyrodiil. Atop a hill, the city sat just above the tree line at the edge of the Great Forest. It was a bustling city, fit with its own arena, with the Kvatch Castle and Great Chapel of Akatosh dotting its skyline. When Amira was a young adult, she had crossed the border from Hammerfell into Cyrodiil and made her way to the Kvatch Arena, looking to make a name for herself as a fighter. Promptly having her ass handed to her, she gave up on that dream and instead decided to wander all across Tamriel, taking odd jobs where she could. She smiled at the memory.

As she approached the road that would lead up to Kvatch’s bluff, dark clouds gathered in the sky. Normally she would attribute it to Second Seed rains, but something felt wrong. There was no humidity that afternoon. In fact, the air felt dry as bone. Drawing closer, she noticed a new, disturbing sensation: The smell of smoke.

Clicking her heel, she urged her steed into a gallop, racing up the winding path to the city. Now in view of the city’s fortifications, Amira saw the dark clouds rising up from within its walls. The sky itself was tinted red, glowing a dark russet color in the afternoon light. Kvatch was burning.

“Run! Run while you still can!”

A distraught high elf darted into the path. She jerked back on the reigns to slow her horse, causing it to rear up and nearly throw her off.

“Whoa! Hey, what in the Nine are you doing?” Amira snapped. The Altmer man looked terrified.

“Go far away from here!” he warned. “The guards still hold the road, but it’s only a matter of time before they’re overwhelmed! Run!”

“Slow down,” She ordered, dismounting her horse. “What are you talking about? Run from what?”

“Gods’ blood,” he gasped. “You don’t know? Daedra overran Kvatch!”

Amira’s stomach lurched.

“There were glowing portals outside the walls,” the man cried. “Gates to Oblivion itself! There was a huge creature, something out of nightmare, blasting fire, everything destroyed…”

Amira grabbed his shoulders, gripping him tightly. “You’re telling me the entire city was destroyed?”

“Go see for yourself!” he wring his body away from her. “Kvatch is a smoking ruin! We’re all that’s left! Everyone else is dead!”

With that, the Altmer ran down the road past where Amira had came.

She stood still for a moment and looked up to the walls of Kvatch. The city was on fire, that she was certain, but could such a sight truly be possible? She shuddered. Jumping back onto her horse, she continued her ascent up the hill.

Amira arrived at a flat landing, halfway up the bluff to Kvatch and gasped. Dozens of citizens were huddled together, with some crude tents erected for protection. Some were crying out, others sobbing to themselves, many seemed badly injured. Healers and mages ran from group to group, tending to the hurt. The smell of smoke and blood hung heavy in the air, burning Amira’s eyes.

She left her horse at the edge of the encampment and looked around. She spotted two women wearing cuirasses with a black wolf emblazoned on the front. Remnants of the city guard.

“Excuse me,” Amira said upon approach.

The two turned to her. They looked haunted and exhausted.

“Is there a priest by the name of Martin among the refugees?”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” One of the guards shook her head. “We’ve been so busy getting citizens to safety I couldn’t say. If you want to find out about a survivor you should ask someone else.”“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, though,” the second guard said with a grimace. “The destruction in Kvatch… I’m shocked anyone made it out to begin with. We don’t think anyone else survived.”

“Of course,” Amira said, trying to keep her voice calm. “Thank you for your help.”

She walked through the camp looking around. Everyone seemed to be in shock, holding each other or themselves. It was like nothing Amira had ever witnessed before. Whatever had occurred had been traumatic beyond words. She tried to ignore the nauseous feeling rising in her stomach.

As she wandered deeper into a camp she spotted an Argonian woman by the fire. Unlike the rest of the refugees around her, the woman was calm. The fire reflected off her red eyes and danced across her brilliant green-and-purple scales. Amira sidled up and took a seat next to her. The woman didn’t seem to notice.

“Ah, excuse me for imposing,” Amira began after an awkward moment of silence. “Do you happen to be from Kvatch?”

The Argonian looked at Amira from the corner of her eye, expressionless.

“Would I be here among the chaos if I wasn’t?” she replied.

“Right,” Amira said, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, that was a foolish question.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “This has been a strange event. Confusion is to be expected. Even foolish questions.”

She turned to face Amira, giving the woman a once-over. Amira’s cheeks grew hot, suddenly feeling out of place among the suffering citizens. Her presence, and needs, imposed on an already difficult time.

To her surprise, the Argonian didn’t shoo her away but instead smiled.

“I’m Weedum-Ja.”

“Amira.”

“Nice to meet you, despite the circumstances,” Weedum-Ja said. “I must admit, it’s reassuring to see another calm face amidst the chaos.”

“Everyone else seems scared out of their minds,” Amira frowned. “But you’re not?”

“I am scared,” Weedum-Ja nodded, curling her tail across her lap. “Last night was bad. It still is bad, but we will return.”

“That seems to be a remarkably positive outlook, given what other’s have been saying.”

“Of course. How else will we survive otherwise?” she smiled.

“True,” Amira nodded. Quietly, she admired - and envied - Weedum-Ja’s resolve. Despite her circumstances, the woman wanted to stay positive. The anxiety that had been gnawing inside Amira’s mind quieted for the moment.

“Um, Weedum-Ja, do you happen to know a priest by the name of Martin?”

“Of course, he works - Ah.. Worked, at the chapel.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

Weedum-Ja frowned.

“It was when the portal in the middle of town had closed, but the one outside hadn’t opened. He helped me, and a small group of others, escape the city. Last I saw of him was as we escaped out the gates.”

“Oh,” Amira said weakly.

“However, I heard from one of the injured guards they brought back that there may be a group of survivors still holed up in the city.”

“Oh!” Amira’s heart leapt. _So there’s still a chance…_

“You won’t be able to get in, though,” Weedum-Ja shook her head. “The portal blocks the only entrance to Kvatch.”

“The portal…” Amira gasped. “Wait, there’s a portal that’s open?”

Weedum-Ja nodded. “If you want to get in, you’ll want to speak to Savlian Matius. I believe he’s acting as Captain of the guard.”

“Oh, by the Nine,” Amira leaned back with a groan. “Where can I find him?”

“Keep following the road, you won’t be able to miss it,” Weedum-Ja pointed to the winding path leading further up the bluff.

Amira stood up and nodded. “Thank you for your help, Weedum-Ja.”

“Of course, I hope you can find Brother Martin,” Weedum-Ja smiled. “And thank you for the company.”

Amira gave her a weak smile back before making her way around the fire and towards the path. The plan that was once so straightforward, easy even, now felt daunting. Though she didn’t quite understand what happened to the people of Kvatch, she mentally readied herself for what was to come. Leaving behind the sounds of the crying, she made her way up to the city’s entrance.

—

As Amira made her way up to the gates, something strange occurred in the sky. The dark grey clouds of smoke began to break apart, and the expanse behind it turned a dull russet color. It was different than the burning embers Amira had seen on the horizon from the road. Thunder rumbled nearby, though again she felt no sign of rain. What’s more, the trees seemed to be dying the closer she came to the summit of the bluff. In the middle of Second Seed the flora around Kvatch should have been blooming with life. Instead, skeletal trees reached up into the cloudy sky and barren dirt crunched beneath her feet. Though nothing felt right before that point, Amira got the feeling that something was deeply wrong in the very physical space she walked through itself.

But nothing could have prepared her for the structure that greet her as she finally reached the gates of Kvatch.

A massive, stone arch twisted into the sky. A substance, almost like lightning, shimmered across its curved face. The dark clouds, blotted out the sun and the only light in the area was a brilliant red-and-yellow that spilled out from the thing. Between the structure and Amira, two black claw-like obelisks jutted from the ground. The Kvatch guard had constructed crude wooden-spiked barriers in the field surrounding the archway, but they seemed feeble compared to the energy that the creation radiated. All around were bodies, both of humans and ugly scamps.

It was unlike anything Amira had ever seen before. The enormous amount of energy that oozed from the structure was nearly overwhelming. In that moment, something clicked inside Amira’s mind. Before that point, all of the events of the past day and a half suddenly came into a new light. The Emperor’s death, his killers, the urgency in finding a man named Martin. The gravity of the situation she found herself in presented itself in the form of that unimaginable gate. As deeply unsettling as it was, Amira realized something else alongside her growing fear. Currently, she was the only one present who understood the gravity of the situation enough to want to - need to - do something about it.

Towards the edge of the rows of spiked barriers huddled a group of Kvatch guards. They were bloodied and worn, presumably having fought throughout the night. It seemed they had been working ever since. Every so often a group of scamps would emerge through a ripple in the shimmering face of the gate and make a dash across the field. The guards would take turns rushing over and cutting the foes down. But their exhaustion was imminent, they wouldn’t be able to hold for much longer.

As Amira approached, one looked up and came over to her.

“Stand back, civilian,” he ordered, holding a hand up to Amira. “This is no place for you, return to the encampment immediately.”

He was an Imperial, perhaps only a couple years younger than Amira. His hair was shaved, a tight military cut, and his cuirass bore the seal of Kvatch. It seemed he had carried a look of anger throughout the night, one now turned to Amira. This, she realized, was Savlian Matius. And he was the only one standing in her way.

“What happened here,” she asked, ignoring his demand. “I need to know all the details.”

“What happened…?” Matius looked at her incredulously, then his face twisted in rage. “We lost the damned city, that’s what happened! It was too much, too fast! We were overwhelmed, couldn’t even get everyone out… There are still people trapped in there! And now we can’t even get back into the city to help them!”

“That damned Oblivion Gate…” He turned away from her, tightening his fist. She didn’t back down, instead stepping closer to him.

“What are you planning to do about it?” She pressed.

“The only thing we can do!” He snapped. “We’ll hold our ground! If we don’t, those vile beasts will march right down and slaughter everyone in the encampment! Protecting the few civilians we have left is all I can do now.”

Amira was silent for a moment, her mind spinning. Matius glared at her.

“If you’re done wasting my time, you can go back to the encampment with the rest of-”

“I’ll help with the gate.”

Amira’s mouth seemed to move on its own, and she looked at Matius with surprise. He stared with wide-eyed disbelief.

“You want to help?” he said. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” she replied. _What am I doing?_

“It’ll likely mean your death.”

“I know.” _What am I DOING?_

“Are you sure?” he asked her one last time.

Amira swallowed. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Matius stared at Amira for a moment longer, then shook his head with a sigh.

“You, whoever you are, I won’t stop you,” he said, stepping aside. “You death isn’t on my hands.”

She looked up at the crackling gate and sucked in a breath. Whatever it was she was going to do, she had committed to it now and intended to follow through. Checking that her katana was secure on her waist, she walked across the field towards the portal. She could hear the guards behind her begin to call out in panic, only to be quieted by Matius’ bark. She continued across the space unimpeded.

 _At least if I die_ , she thought, _my final two days were eventful_ …

“Hey!” Matius called out from where the group was huddled. “I sent men into the Gate to see if there was a way to shut it. Find out what happened to them and bring them back alive if you can!”

 _They already sent people in?_ Amira thought, feeling nauseous again. Matius wasn’t helping her confidence. Still, she nodded to him and walked up to the entrance of the Gate.

Though it looked like lightning, the Oblivion Gate gave off no heat. In fact, the air around it felt cold and clammy. Amira stared up at it. She didn’t need to do this, she knew. If she wanted, she could turn back now and run far, far away from Kvatch with only her pride and maybe a little karma damaged. Despite her fears, she couldn’t bring herself to flee.

“I made a promise,” she said to herself, squeezing her eyes shut. She remembered Uriel’s lifeless body falling, his blood a brilliant red against the white stone. The memory made her shudder. His death felt violent, though it was quick. If she went through the gate, it was likely she would meet a more gruesome fate. Still, his words rang in her ears.

_The dawn of Akatosh’s bright glory may banish the coming darkness._

“Akatosh, please guide me,” she whispered to herself and took a deep breath. Slowly, she stepped forward through the glimmering orange lightning and entered into Oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 3/16/18 - Fixed spelling errors


	6. Oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amira enters Oblivion and attempts to close the gate.

Slipping through the Oblivion Gate was surprisingly painless. It was akin to slipping under the surface of a cold lake, jarring to the senses but not harmful. As her body slipped from the very realm of Mundus itself into Oblivion, she felt the air around her bend and warp, freeing her body and soul from Nirn and allowing her entry into the strange, alien plane of reality. The coldness she felt as she approached the Gate gave way to a warm that spread across her face, building into a fierce, fiery heat.

Slowly, Amira opened her eyes.

The destruction she witnessed surrounding Kvatch was nothing compared to what lay in front of her now. Now far from the mortal world, there was no sun nor moons in the land’s sky. Instead, it was lit a shining red and cracked with fissures, looking as though the sky itself could fall apart and crumble down on the barren world below in any moment. The craggy, scorched earth had no trees or grass. Its only fauna was blood-red reeds that resembled veins poking up among the rocks. Before her lay a stone bridge, with strange ruins carved into its post. She recognized them as daedric, but had no idea what they read. The bridge offered a path over a large, winding river of lava that blasted hot air from its depths. In the distance beyond the bridge rose a tall tower, silhouetted black against the red sky. Spikes, like the kind she saw outside the Gate, jut out from the sides of its spire. At the top a golden light shone up into the sky.

Amira desperately wanted a moment to catch herself, reeling from shock. Unfortunately, she quickly learned she wouldn’t find any respite. Between the entrance to the realm and the bridge lay a slain Kvatch soldier, one of Matius’ men. Looming over his corpse were two scamps, pulling chunks of flesh from the body and devouring it. When Amira entered the two turned to her and let out a screech.

“Damn!” she gasped and quickly unsheathed her katana as they charged at her. Raising it high, she brought her sword down on one scamp with an effortless _CHOP_. Its skull split in half and let out a surge of black liquid, before falling over dead. The second scamp slipped under Amira’s sword and dove at her leg, attempting to sink its claws into her thigh. The leather armor kept her safe from harm.

Amira kicked her leg out, throwing the scamp from it. It hit the ground, dazed long enough for her to bring down her katana again and slice it across its chest. It writhed for a moment before falling dead. Amira let out a sigh of relief and turned toward the tower.

“Well,” she said to herself, kicking the scamp body aside. “Guess that’s my destination.”

As she made her way to the bridge, she snuck a glance at the half eaten corpse. It was revolting. A terrible thought crossed her mind: _That could be you_.

Regretting looking, Amira ran across the bridge.

——

Outside the tower a single Dremora stood guarding the door. Amira could see it now as she peered around one of the bridge’s stone pillars. Two small horns, barely curved, stuck out the front of its head; its red-and-black face was twisted into what seemed like a permanent snarl. Amira took note of the spiked mace hanging at its hip - a spiked mace, like the ones held by the Mythic Dawn.

 _No doubt then,_ she thought. _This attack must’ve been related to Martin_.

Close to the tower, Amira could see its golden light stretched into the sky. If what Weedum-Ja said was true, she figured the tower would hold the key to closing the gates. But first, she had to deal with a Dremora.

In her current state, fresh out of prison and mentally shaken, Amira decided her best bet was to sneak around the Daedroth. She would pick up a stone, throw it to distract the thing, then quickly rush through the doors unseen. _Foolproof_ , she told herself.

Amira picked up a rock from the dead earth, pulled her arm back and sent it flying just off to the side of the tower. The Dremora guard perked up and drew its weapon, stalking to the side to investigate the sound.

Taking her opening, Amira quickly dashed out from around the corner, running for the door and -

**_ZZZAP!_ **

Pain suddenly spread throughout her body, knocking the wind from her lungs. She fell to the ground, sputtering. The Dremora guard lowered its outstretched arm, still crackling with sparks. It made its way over to Amira with a wicked grin. She groaned.

“Heel, dog!” it snarled and swung its mace at her head.

With a gasp, Amira rolled to her side, the mace narrowly missing her. It stuck itself into the ground and the Dremora hissed at her.

“Not so foolproof,” she recovered herself to a squatting position and pulled her katana from its sheath. The Dremora reached out a hand, now glowing with fire. Amira slashed up and caught its arm on the edge of her blade. Surprised, the Dremora pulled back. When it did, she rushed forward and stuck her blade deep through its stomach.

“Mortal!” it gurgled, black liquid pouring from its mouth. “You will kneel to Lord Dagon…”

Amira pulled out her katana and it slumped over, dead.

“Gods,” she swore, taking a moment to catch her breath. The shock spell didn’t hurt her badly, thankfully, but she could still feel the painful buzzing sensation in her limbs. What’s more, she split her eyebrow on her fall, blood now ran down the side of her face.

Though she wasn’t skilled with magicka, like almost every other lone wanderer knew enough to heal minor wounds with it. Calling upon that power she closed her eyes and touched a finger to her brow. A warm sensation, pleasant and soft, spread from her chest, up her body, down her arm and finally from her fingertips to the cut. It stung for a brief moment before subsiding along with the warmth. Her cut was healed, though she likely would be left with a scar.

Careful to be quiet, she pushed open the tower door.

The inside of the tower was sparse compared to the chaos of the world outside. Sharp black and red spikes poked out through the walls, its inner doors all had a strange membrane-like quality to them. The most notable structure, however, was the pillar of fiery light that shot up through the center of the room, up through to the ceiling. The source seemed to come from deep below. Amira figured this was the cause of the golden light that shone from the tower’s peak. The only way for her to go was up.

Amira stuck to the shadows as she crept through the tower’s labyrinth of rooms. There were Dremora here and there but not as many as she expected. It seemed the plane that she was exploring held only a brigade of Dremora, not the entire fighting force. The realization brought some relief to Amira, though slight.

Through her wandering Amira came upon a large, cavernous room. A long stone platform wrapped around the room, overlooking the pillar of fiery, golden light that stood at its center. Amira peered over the edge of the platform. The entrance to the keep lay far below. Five identical doors lined the pathway.

“Well, shit,” she grumbled, looking around. The tower’s architecture, besides looking otherworldly, made no sense in her mind. It contained many rooms and winding hallways, but all seemed to be empty, save for an occasionally fountain that spurted what seemed to be blood. While she knew to continue up, she had no way of knowing which of the doors before her would lead that way.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of one of the many membranous doors sliding open. The distinctive, gruff snarl of two Dremora echoed throughout the barren chamber.

 _Shit!_ She turned and quickly dove through the closest door.

She found herself, high, _high_ above the ground below on a thin stone bridge.

“Oh Gods!” she exclaimed and stumbled back in shock. Hot wind whipped past her face. The bridge connected the central tower to a smaller keep. It had been hidden from view of the gate entrance, situated behind the larger tower.

 _No going back now_ … Amira swallowed hard. Slowly, she made her way across the bridge. Though sturdy, the fierce wind blew hard, threatening to throw Amira from its high place at any moment. She persisted. Finally making it to the other side she let out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding and pushed open the door.

Immediately in her face was a burning corpse.The smell of charred flesh hit her like a wall. Amira covered her nose, choking back a gag. The corpse hung from its feet, strapped to a metal chain. The inside of the tower was one giant room, a winding stone pathway allowing traversal up it.

Revolted by the sight, Amira turned to leave when a voice rang out.

“Help!” a voice echoed off the stone. 

High above Amira’s head, a glass landing sat at the end of the stone path. From the ceiling of the spire, a massive metal cage dangled. Inside a human man reached through its bars towards her, his body straining with the effort.

“Please, you have to help me!” he wailed.

Amira stared up at him, grit her teeth and unsheathed her sword. Staring right at her, pleading to her, there was no way she would leave him. She thought of the half-eaten corpse she had seen when she first entered Oblivion. No, she had to help him.

Amira raced up the path towards the overhang. The man lay huddled at the bottom of the cage. He was covered in welts and gashes, but he was alive. A tall, heavily armored Dremora turned to her, a wicked grin on its face. Its horns were more curved than the one Amira fought outside the keep. This one was a higher rank.

“You should not be here, mortal,” it snarled in its otherworldly voice. “Your blood is forfeit, your flesh is mine!”

With that, the Dremora rushed at Amira, spiked mace raised. She put up her katana and caught its blow on her blade. With a grunt, she pushed the creature back, forcing it to stumble. Amira tried to follow up with a slash at its chest, but the Dremora was faster than she anticipated. When she was close, it stepped to the side and sent Amira crashing into the cage.

“Look out!” the encaged man cried. Amira dropped to her knees just in time to miss the mace crash down, sparks flying as metal made contact with metal. With the Dremora over her, Amira pushed off the floor, hard. Her body collided with the Dremora and knocked it back.

 _Now!_ She used the momentum of her bounce to turn on her heel and face the Dremora. Pouncing forward, she struck its abdomen with her blade. The Dremora let out a hiss and kicked its leg into Amira’s stomach, knocking her back. She struggled to catch the breath that had been forced out of her and the Dremora lunged forward, catching her left arm with its mace.

Amira cried out in pain but kept her grip on the katana. Sucking in a breath, she lashed out one final blow that sliced the flesh between the Dremora’s armor. It let out a roar as black blood oozed from the wound. It hit the ground with a thud.

Pain radiated from Amira’s arm and she turned it over to look. While her armor had prevented the spiked mace from lacerating her skin, the Dremora had hurt her arm badly. It felt hot against the leather protecting it. She flexed her hand and winced. She would be able to move, but not without a struggle.

“Thank the Nine you came,” the man sighed in relief. “Quickly, you haven’t much time. That slain Keeper should have a key to the door!”

The Dremora had fallen face-first onto the ground. Amira rolled it over with her food, its now-vacant yellow eyes staring up into nothingness. A key was tied to its hip by a rope. Cutting it off, Amira brought it over and unlocked the man’s cell.

“Thank you, thank you!” he said again, limping out of the cage. “You, you must be from Kvatch correct?”

“I entered from there, yes,” Amira replied, offering her good arm as support. “Are you one of Matius’ men?”

“Yes,” he said. “We tried to find a way to close the gate. But Ilend and I, we got separated… They took me here, beat me, then locked me in that wretched cage. My name is Menien.”

“Amira,” she replied. “Hold still for a second.”

Though his wounds were too severe for her to fully fix, Amira placed a hand on Menien’s chest. As her hand began to glow, the cuts and sores across Menien’s body closed a little. The bruises that colored his legs turned from purple to brown and then a yellowed color. He straightened up and let go of Amira’s arm, putting weight on them.

“Well, that’s the last of my magick, but at least you can get to the exit,” Amira sighed.

He looked at her with surprise. “But your arm…”

She shook her head dismissively. “I’ll be fine, it still works. You need to get out of here, understand?”

Menien nodded.

“Good,” Amira pushed open the door to the tower. The two made their way across the stone bridge. Once to the other side, Amira pushed open the door and peered around the corner. The Dremora that had come through earlier were nowhere to be found. Waving to Menien, they re-entered the central room of the large keep.

“Go through that door, down at the end there,” Amira pointed Menien to the way she had entered previously. “When you get outside run as fast as possible to the entrance.”

Menien nodded again, but as Amira turned to go he grabbed her arm.

“Get to the top of the tower, the Sigil Keep they call it. That’s what keeps the Oblivion Gate open,” he said. “Remove the Sigil Stone and the Gate will close.”

“Okay, got it,” she replied.

He let her go and dashed out the door without another word. Turning away, Amira head on through the door she had seen the Dremora go through and continued her way up the tower.

 

——

By the time Amira made it to Sigil Keep she began to feel ragged. She had ran into a handful of scamps and another Dremora on her way and the fighting was beginning to take its toll. Her left arm ached terribly, making it harder to grip her katana with both hands. She was crouched outside of a large door, leaning against the hot stone wall and breathing heavily. This, she hoped, would be the final challenge. Heaving herself to her feet, Amira slipped through the door and hid in its entryway.

The floor of the Sigil Keep was different than the rest of the spire. Instead of stone it was made of a strange membrane-like structure, almost visceral in its feel. The pillar of light that had shone up through the center of the entire tower now found its end, or rather its source. A small, stone-like sphere hovered high above, supported delicately by a pointed stand situated atop a metal ring. An alter connected to the ring, with stairs coming down from either side. That, Amira presumed, had to be the Sigil Stone.

Unfortunately, she was not alone in the room. Two Dremora mages stalked across the room, presumably stationed there to ensure the Sigil Stone’s operation. Their horns were slightly curved, similar to the Dremora Keeper Amira had encountered earlier. With no other pathway, Amira would have to face them both.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself and readied her sword. “Let’s give it everything I’ve got.”

Amira jumped out from around the corner, katana pointing out from her hip, and rushed towards one of the mages closest to her. To her relief, and the Dremora’s surprise, she managed to ram her weapon through its chest before it could counter. Its companion, however, unleashed a fireball that caught Amira square in the shoulder, knocking her off her feet as she screamed.

“Slave!” It readied its mace, squaring to attack. “You will yield!”

Amira scrambled to stand, eyes darting around. Her left arm pulsed with terrible pain, now scorched as well as bruised. There was no way she would be able to overcome the Dremora. She looked up at the Sigil Stone, making up her mind.

The Dremora was nearly on top of her, ready to swing its mace down and destroy whatever mobility she had left in her arm. Just as the Daedroth began its swing Amira darted to the side, sending it hurdling past her. Without hesitation, she raced up the steps towards the Stone.

“Churl!” the Dremora screeched, launching another fireball that zoomed past Amira’s head. She ran as fast as she could up the stairs, nearly stumbling as she reached the landing. The Dremora was in hot pursuit, just a few paced behind her. It reached out and swung its mace again, causing Amira to stumble back. Though she had her katana, it was unsteady with just one hand. The Dremora reached out a black-clawed hand at her and she swung at it. She struck a blow across its wrist, but lacked enough force to cleave its hand. But all she needed was an opening, and as the Dremora reared back she found it.

Slipping out around the Dremora mage, Amira sheathed her katana and raced out to the Sigil Stone, her arm outstretched.

“NO,” the Dremora boomed and shot a bolt of fire that struck her back.

Amira gasped and fell, face-first, into the fiery column. Her back burned and the world at the edges of her vision began to grow fuzzy. As she fell she felt something touch her chest. She wrapped her arms tightly around the Sigil Stone, holding it close to her as she and the Stone tumbled off the altar.

As soon as the Stone left its place, the tower began to shake. Fire from the column exploded out, engulfing the room with flames. Yet, Amira felt no heat. Even the pain from her arm began to fade. The flames grew and grew, emitting a high pitched screech, until the entire world was bright-white. Then, everything was darkness. Amira felt cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 3/16/18 - Fixed spelling mistake


	7. Martin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second protagonist of this fic finally shows up.

Amira awoke to a vile taste in her mouth. She lurched forward, coughing and spitting up red liquid that filled her mouth. _Blood?!_ She thought through the haze, throwing a hand up to her face. Her body was sore, back and arm aching dully, but the splitting pain she had felt just a few minutes prior had dissipated. Amira blinked, trying to remove the blurriness from her eyes.

Slowly she came about her senses. She was sitting on the dirt ground outside of Kvatch, dazed. She struggled to remember how she came to be where she was. There was fire, then a dazzling light and then… _Oh!_ Something heavy was in her lap. A stone sphere, covered in tiny pores and fissures. She touched it with the tips of her. A warmth radiated from it.

As she came to, she realized she was not alone. A young Bosmer sat next to her, supporting Amira so she could sit upright. The woman’s lips were moving, but no sound came out. There was a ring still screeching in her ears. Amira shook her head.

“I’m sorry, what?” Amira said a little too loud.

“…Was saying, thank Akatosh you did it!”

The Bosmer was smiling at Amira with tears in her large brown eyes. Behind her stood stood members of the Kvatch guard, including a now bandaged Menien and Savlian Matius, who beamed down at her.

“You absolute madwoman!” Matius cried, giving Amira a hearty pat on the back. “You actually closed the gate! I knew you would!”

Amira groaned at the pat, causing the Bosmer to put a flask to her lips.

“Here, drink this!” she ordered, pushing it on Amira.

Amira complied and took a deep sip, then proceeded to spit it out immediately.

“That’s foul!” she sputtered.

“Oh,” the Bosmer frowned. “You did that earlier, when I tried to give it to you before you woke up too!”

“What is it?” Amira asked, giving the bottle a sniff. It smelled like sour wine.

“Healing potion!” she beamed. “My own brew!”

“Ciirillie, I think thats enough,” Matius said. The Bosmer looked sad but backed off. Amira gave the potion another small sip. She gagged, but finally managed to keep it down. The ache in her back subsided slightly, irritated flesh from where the fireball struck quieted. Amira let out a sigh of relief.

“So,” Amira cleared her throat. “The Gate’s gone, then?”

“Damn right it is!” Matius cried triumphantly. All of the guards let out a cheer.

Amira let out a sign of relief. Her impulsive scheme actually worked! She smiled to herself and looked down at the Sigil Stone in her lap. She picked it up with one hand and studied it. In the back of her mind, something lit up, as though there was something she was forgetting…

“Oh!” She snapped back to attention. “We can reach the survivors!”

“Yes, if they’re still there,” Matius replied. “We were about to mount an offensive to go take back the city. When we saw the Gate fall apart and you fall out in a ball of fire, we feared the worse. But Ciirillie here patched you up good! We wanted to make sure you were alive before we entered the city.”

“Good,” Amira slipped the Sigil Stone into her pocket and hoisted herself forward with a grunt, struggling to her feet. “I’m coming with you.”

“Ma’am, I don’t think that’s a good idea!” Ciirillie helped Amira up, supporting her weight. “Looks like you got hurt pretty bad in there…”

“Ciirillie, correct?”

“Yes?”

“You said this is a healing potion, right?”

“Yes…”

“Good,” Amira replied and took a long swig from the bottle. Her stomach lurched, but she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep it down. She shuddered. It tasted awful, like bile and sludge. But the drink warmed her chest, strength rushing back to her legs. She was tired but no longer felt weak. 

“No, I’m going,” She flexed her muscles and grinned at Matius. “My job’s not done yet.”

Matius smiled and nodded. “Alright then! Gather up, men!”

What remained of the Kvatch guard gathered around Matius. They drew their weapons and held them to the sky.

“For Kvatch!” Matius called.

“For Kvatch!” Amira and the guards answered. Together, the group pushed forward through the city’s large steel gates and broke its siege.

———

 

Kvatch lay in ruins. The once-beautiful city had been decimated by the invasion. Wooden houses, built tall and proud, lay as smoldering embers in the rubble. All its trees were stripped bare and the earth scorched, much like it had outside the gates. The Chapel of Akatosh, once standing proud in the center of the city, now lay in ruins, its great spire split in half and fallen to the ground. Scamps clawed at the sturdy wooden doors to the temple, leaving claw marks on its face. The lesser Daedra had overrun the plaza, picking their way through its ruins.

“Onward!” Matius called, rushing forward to meet the foes. He knocked aside a scamp with his shield and cut through the annoying creature. Amira followed suit, now able to hold her katana with both hands, and sliced through a pair of scamps with ease. The scamps screamed and hissed, attempting to claw and bite their attackers. But the Kvatch guard easily outnumbered and outmaneuvered them.

From the ruins of one of the many destroyed houses, the scamp’s master arose. A Dremora adorned in spiked heavy armor sprung forth, clutching a longsword. It lunged forth from the rubble and charged at Matius head-on.

“Watch it, Matius!” Amira cried out. He turned and looked at the Dremora with surprise, narrowly avoiding a blow by its sword. With its back to her, Amira held tight to her katana and rushed forward. She managed to plunge the sword through its back, but it didn’t stop the Dremora. It swung around and swatted Amira away, catching her on her head. She stumbled backwards with a grunt. While it was distracted, Matius took his short sword and slice it at the Dremora’s neck, severing part of its neck. The Daedroth let out a guttural sound before falling to its knees and slumping to the ground.

Matius approached and offered Amira her hand. She took it and hoisted herself up, shaking her head.

“For some madwoman who came from nowhere and plunged themselves deep into Oblivion, you are a skilled warrior!” he said.

“Thanks,” she replied, walking over to the Dremora to pull her katana from its back. “I’ve had a few decades of practice.”

“Ha!” he chuckled. “We wiped the bastards out in any case!”

Amira sheathed her katana with a smile. She was tired, but it was deeply satisfying to be taking back Kvatch.

“It should be safe to pull those people out of the chapel,” Matius waved his men forward. “Let’s get in there and make sure they’re all right.”

The guard positioned themselves outside of the chapel. They stood at attention, ready to call out if there was any trouble. Amira noticed they looked more determined than they had before she entered the Gate.

“Once the civilians are safe,” Matius continued. “We can discus the next phase of attack. This is only the beginning of the battle for Kvatch!”

“Oh, no Matius, wait,” Amira shook her head. “I can’t help you.”

“What?” he exclaimed. “Why not?”

“I have my own mission to carry out,” she explained, biting her lip. “There’s someone I need to find, someone I need to make sure gets to safety.”

“I see,” Matius looked disappointed. “That’s a shame. You seemed to really have the upper hand against those Daedra. We could really use your expertise. Will you at least consider it further?”

“Yes,” she lied.

Amira’s stomach twist into a knot as they approached the chapel. Beyond the doors she would find out whether or not Martin, the man she went to Oblivion and back for, was live or not. After what she had gone through, she made a silent, desperate prayer that he was. If this is what the Mythic Dawn could do simply because of the Emperor had died, she could scarce imagine what they might do if the entire Septim line were to end.

Matius approached the wooden door and gave it a loud knock.

“This is Savlian Matius, captain of the Kvatch guard!” he called. “We’ve closed the Gate and we’re coming to evacuate you!”

There was a pause. Then, slowly, the door creaked open. A terrified man in a Kvatch cuirass peered around it. When he caught sight of Matius he pushed the door aside and ran to him.

“Sir! I thought you were dead! Or, well, we thought you thought that we were dead!” he stammered, eyes welling with tears.

“We would never leave people behind!” Matius replied, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. The man wiped away a tear and nodded.

“C’mon into the temple, everyone else will be so glad to see you too!” he waved for the group to follow.

Even in its destroyed state, the Chapel of Akatosh was beautiful. Despite the destruction outside, the temple itself was quiet. Soft candlelight illuminated beautiful stain-glass windows with images of the Nine Divines. Remarkably, none of the windows had been shattered during the destruction. Light filtered through the windows to the side, showing representations of Arkay, Dibella, Julianos, Kynareth, Mara, Stendarr, Talos and Zenithar. The largest window, situated at the head of the chapel, was the image of Akatosh. His faces were both like dragon and man and he held an hourglass between his hands, representing his power as the God of Time.

The refugees converted the temple space into a makeshift camp. Pews were used as cots, on the alter lay some medical supplies. Amira surveyed the people in the room. Some lay sleeping quietly on the ground while others groaned in pain. Remnants of the Kvatch guard that had stayed in the chapel were all situated towards the doors, likely to fight if any Daedra happened to make it through.

Matius and his men went around and began to check on the survivors. The people in the temple had been in Kvatch the longest, and it showed on their faces. Those that were awake looked haunted. Amira’s heart ached for them. Though Oblivion had been horrific, the nightmare of watching your home and loved ones be destroyed was traumatic on an entirely different level. She could only imagine the distress they were going through, having seen what she had seen but done on people they knew and loved.

Amira walked to the chapel’s alter and looked up at the image of Akatosh. Had Akatosh really watched over her like she asked? Or did she survive the Oblivion Gate on luck and skill alone? She frowned at the thought. She wanted to believe it was the Divines watching over her, but Oblivion felt so far away from Nirn. If Akatosh was watching, why would he let such terrors befall Kvatch? Amira stared at the face of the dragon-man, looking for some kind of answers. She received silence as a reply.

“It’s funny. No matter how much we pray to them, the Gods never seem to respond to us in the way we hope.”

An Imperial had come to stand next to next to Amira. He had soft, shoulder-length brown hair and tanned skin that made his brilliant grey-blue eyes stand out. He was wearing traditional black vestments, charred and torn at the edges, no doubt from the night before. He had been staring up at the stained glass alongside Amira, and looked over at her with a tired smile. For some reason, Amira felt heat in her cheeks. She glanced away from him back to Akatosh.

“That’s just the way it is, right? The Gods’ work in mysterious ways, according to their will” she shrugged. “At least, thats what the clergymen I’ve met always say.”

“That we do,” he nodded. “Though, tonight I admit I’m having trouble with that.”

Amira looked back at him. There was a pained look on his face.

“To be honest, if this is all part of a divine plan, I’m not sure I want anything to do with it,” he frowned.

“I don’t blame you,” she responded. The two stood in silence together, staring up at the stained glass. Finally, the man turned to Amira and broke the silence.

“They tell me you helped the guard drive the daedra back, correct?” he asked.

“Yes, thanks to Matius and his men,” she said.

“Well done.”

“Of course, it was the right thing to do,” she smiled. “I’m Amira Halgal, by the way.” 

She extended her hand and he took it.

“I’m Brother Martin.”

“Nice to meet-” Amira’s voice caught in her throat, her eyes going wide. “Wait, Martin?”

The man pulled back, surprised by her response. “Yes?”

“Oh thank the NINE!” Amira clasped her hands together and bowed. “I can’t believe I found you!”

“Uh,” Martin backed up from her, confused. “What?”

“Where do I start, um,” Amira scrambled to find words. Actually, what could she say? That he was the bastard son of the late Emperor? That Kvatch was attacked just to destroy him? It all seemed too fantastical to be believed, she realized. Then again, it was a fantastical situation.

She decided to approach the topic with cautious truth. “The Emperor told me to find you,” she said confidently.

He stared at her. It was not the reaction Amira had hoped.

“The Emperor of Tamriel?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“The one that’s dead?”

“… Yes,” she said slowly.

“You’re mad,” he said bluntly and turned to leave.

“No, I’m serious!” she grabbed his arm. He scowled at her and tried to pull away, but she held fast.

“I was with the Emperor when he died, I know it sounds preposterous, but it’s true!” she exclaimed. “According to him this was all been part of a plan!”

“A plan?” he scoffed. “What plan? What are you talking about? I prayed to Akatosh all through that terrible night, but no help came. Only more daedra. What could you possibly know that would help me make sense of all this?”

“You’re Uriel Septim’s son!” she blurted out. At this point the two were nearly nose-to-nose, yelling at each other. The others in the temple turned to stare at the commotion. Amira blushed red and let Martin go, stepping away. He stared at her, mouth open in shock.

“Emperor Uriel Septim? You think the Emperor is my father?” he finally asked.

“No, no, you must have the wrong man,” Martin backed away and sat down on a chapel pew to collect himself. “I’m a priest of Akatosh. My father was a farmer.”

“The Emperor knew you were in danger, Martin,” Amira sat down next to him, her voice low. “When he died, he told me to come find you, to keep you safe.”

“But, who are you? How do you know the Emperor?”

“It’s… It’s a long story,” Amira bit her lip. “But you have to believe me, I was there when he was murdered. I killed his assassin myself.”

Martin fell silent, staring at the floor.

“Why would I lie to you?” Amira asked. “What could I possibly gain from coming here and risking my life just to mislead you?”

“I-I don’t know,” he put his head in his hands. “It’s strange. I… I think you might actually be telling the truth. Something in my stomach tells me you’re not lying. But what do you want from me?”

“I want you to come with me,” she replied. “You’re not safe here. There’s a monk outside of Chorrol, Jauffre, he was an ally to the Emperor. He’ll know what to do.”

“Wait,” Martin looked up at her. “You mean leave Kvatch?”

“Well, yes. That’s what ‘come with me’ usually means.”

He was silent for a moment, studying her. When he spoke he looked away from her towards the floor.

“I’m not going,” he said.

“What do you mean you’re not going,” she replied flatly.

“I mean I’m not going,” he insisted, raising his voice. “I’m not leaving Kvatch in its current state.”

“What part of ‘you’re not safe here’ do you not understand?” Amira’s voice was tense. Out of all the parts of her mission - reaching a ruined city, closing an otherworldly portal, and picking through survivors - convincing Martin to leave was _not_ supposed to be the most difficult part.

“I’m not safe? Nobody’s safe here!” he retorted. “I stayed with these people all night, I sat with them, I healed them, now you ask me to abandon them? I refuse.”

“You damned…” Amira sucked in a breath, balling her fists. The spot where her arm had been struck by the Dremora ached again and she winced, only irritating her further. It reminded her just how completely exhausted she was.The last two days had been the longest of her life. She had been to Oblivion and back for this fool, she crawled through sewers, ostensibly broke out of prison with a mission to find him and he was refusing? In that moment, Amira wanted to kill him herself.

Martin met her fiery glare with one of her own. He clearly wasn’t happy with her either.Martin was stubborn as hell, that was for sure. Even if it was for such a noble reason, she wished he would just nod and go along with her. Looking closely at him, Amira realized she could pick out Uriel’s features from his face. Though Martin had dark tan skin, his face was shaped just like the late Emperor’s. His jaw line and his nose matched Uriel’s, though Martin’s chin was more squared and soft. But it was his eyes that gave away his lineage most conspicuously. Anyone who had seen Uriel Septim’s eyes in person would be able to find them in Martin. If there was any doubt of Martin’s heritage, it would dissipate after looking at his eyes. Amira stared deeply into his light eyes. The similarities were striking. She eventually broke his gaze with a sigh.

“Fine,” she threw her hands up. “I get it. You won’t leave until Kvatch is safe, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. What if I was able to ensure Kvatch’s safety?”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “How do you intend to do that?”

“I’m still figuring that out,” she sighed. “But if I did, then would you come with me?”

He studied her for a moment then nodded.

“Great,” Amira readjusted the katana sheathed at her side.“Then stay here.”

Amira left Martin at the alter and bounded over to Matius who had just finished receiving a debriefing from the guards who had stayed behind in the temple. They turned to her as she approached, a grin on Matius’s face.

“There she is, Amira! Come, I was just about to tell Darius here how you came tumbling out of that Gate after it closed, ass-over-teakettle, beaten within an inch of life-”

“Never mind that, Matius,” she cut him off, holding up a hand. “I’ve decided to join you in taking back Kvatch.”

“Really?” his smile grew. “That’s fantastic! But, what changed your mind? It wasn’t the priest, was it?”

He peered around Amira to Martin, who was watching her from the front of the temple.

“That was some argument you two were having…”

“I said never mind that, Matius,” Amira snapped.

“Right, excuse me,” he chuckled at her irritation. “Let me explain the plan, then…”

Though the final Oblivion Gate had been closed, daedra still overrun the town. Matius’s plan was simple: eliminate all the remaining daedra and save Count Ormellius Goldwine, the ruler of Kvatch county. He had last been seen in Castle Kvatch.

“If we save the Count and take back Castle Kvatch we’ll have a valuable strategic position over the enemy,” Matius concluded. “Count Goldwine will be able to direct relief efforts once he’s delivered to safety.”

“Okay, I see,” Amira nodded. “Let’s head out then.”

“Fantastic,” Matius said eagerly.

Matius turned to call his men to attention. They quickly fell into formation, Matius apparently having briefed them before Amira. Matius lead the way out the temple doors, sword unsheathed and ready. Amira took up the rear, feeling more than a little reluctant. She glanced over her shoulder as she left, catching Martin’s eye. His grey-blue eyes burned with determination. A small bloom of resentment stirred in Amira. He was going to be a pain in the ass, she was sure of that.

“Damn protective bastard-heir,” she muttered to herself. Disappearing through the heavy wooden doors, she made her way deeper into the center of Kvatch.

Martin watched as the temple doors swung shut behind the soldiers. He turned towards the stained-glass icon of Akatosh, studying it once again. He used to take comfort in the image, the strength and safety of Akatosh’s half-dragon, half-human face staring down at him. But now the Gods felt far away from where he was. Still, Martin bowed his head and folded his hands. He closed his eyes tightly.

“Please, keep them safe,” he prayed. “And let her be as brave as she appears to be.”

 


	8. Reclaiming Kvatch

Infiltrating Kvatch Castle became a more complicated task than Savlian Matius anticipated. The grounds were overrun with lesser daedra. Alone they presented no challenge, but roaming in groups as they were through Kvatch made them a serious threat. The Kvatch guard and Amira were able to cut down many, but some still fell to the groups of daedra. The group was still haggard from the previous nights fight, with little time to rest in-between and it had begun to show.

Along the way two soldiers of the Imperial Legion had joined the group, spotting the smoke rising from the City while patrolling the road below. Their addition was welcome, and with the help of the new reinforcements the group was able to push their way into the Castle, tired but still standing.

Castle Kvatch had been ruined by the siege. Before the attack, Castle Kvatch stood tall and proud upon the bluff the city had been build on. Now it had been reduced to ruins, crumbling rubble blotting what was once a beautiful vista. Much of the interior had been set ablaze, furniture and tapestries reduced to ash. By the time the Kvatch guard arrived, many of the fires had put themselves out after consuming all the fuel they could the night before. Still, the air was heavy with the smell of smoke, causing Amira to cough as she made her way down the once-extravagant stone hallways. It reminded her, uneasily, of the Oblivion plane she had set foot in earlier that day.

It was hard to think it had only been a few hours between when she first entered the Gate and where she stood now. The two events felt days apart, though the weariness in her body told her otherwise. It had been a long day. The pain in her arm had returned, throbbing with every swing of her sword. Though Ciirillie’s potion had helped take the edge off, Amira suspected the blow had bruised the bone underneath. Most elixirs could heal minor wounds or superficial damage, but for major trauma or deep damage more skilled magic was necessary. For now, she grit her teeth and fought through the surging pain, quietly praying she wouldn’t be left with a fracture.

The Great Hall of Kvatch Castle was once the sight of the Count’s throne, now a destroyed pile of wood. Upon entering the Castle, its rooms had been unusually free of daedra, unlike the grounds outside which had been crawling with the creatures. Entering the Great Hall, Amira now saw why. Two Dremora stood at the top of the double-staircase, looking over a small army of lesser scamps and lizard-like clannfear.

“Ready yourselves!” Matius cried out.

The daedra rushed towards the Kvatch guard like a wave, claws and teeth meeting steel. The two groups struggled to gain the upper hand.

“Amira!” Matius fell in step next to her, covering her flank. “Count’s room is just up the stairs, pass those Dremora. Think you can slip by?”

Amira grunted an affirmative, her sword cutting through a clannfear’s bony skull.

“Go get the Count, don’t come back without him!” Matius barked.

Amira slipped along the edge of daedra, quickly stepping past the smaller creatures. Thankfully they were more distracted by the Kvatch guard - and the chance of a more enticing meal - than her. She was not as lucky with the Dremora, however. As soon as she stepped foot on the stairway, one of the Dremora let loose a bolt of electricity just past her head. Distracted by the bolt, Amira failed to dodge the second Dremora that raced down the winding stairs and clotheslined her. Amira fell to the ground, katana clattering to the ground. The Dremora pounced on her, pressing a heavy knee to her chest. She sputtered and swung her arm up, catching a fist to the side of its head, knocking it to the side. Amira rolled onto her stomach and grabbed her katana as the Dremora gained its bearings, readying itself to rush her. It leapt to pin her again, but she rolled not her back and lashed her blade up at it. She caught the Dremora on its neck, black blood spraying across her armor.

The second Dremora wasted no time, running to the base of the stairs. Electricity crackled at its fingertips. It grabbed Amira’s injured arm and released the energy it had been building, sending sparks flying across her skin. Amira shrieked in pain, twisting her arm away. She felt something break deep inside her flesh, nearly doubling over in pain. The Dremora let out a guttural laugh at her writhing. Rage surged through Amira, like fire coursing through her veins. Though one arm hung limply at her side, she dashed forward, katana outstretched. With a snarl she buried the blade deep in the Dremora’s stomach. It hissed at her and tried to let loose another deluge of electric magicka, but the sparks died on its fingers as the life left its eyes.

Amira pushed the corpse to the side and sheathed her katana. She gripped her arm, sucking in a sharp breath in pain. It hadn’t been fractured like she feared. It was broken. Amira blinked back hot tears of pain as she stalked up the stone stairs. She left the sounds of fighting behind as she walked down the dark hallway.

The Count’s quarters, like the rest of Castle Kvatch, had been laid to ruin. Unlike the rest of the keep, the Count’s quarters were still ablaze. It seems something, likely the Dremora Amira just fell, had recently sent the room on fire. In the center of the room was a large bed with plush purple blankets, once soft and comforting now served as fodder for the growing flames. Nearby the bedside a man laid face-down in a pool of blood. Amira walked over and turned the corpse over with her foot. He was an imperial, wearing expensive-looking black-and-maroon robes lined with fur. Count Ormellius Goldwine.

“Damn,” Amira swore. The room was closed inside the keep, no windows or opening to the outside. Smoke had quickly filled the room, making it difficult to breathe. Amira coughed, feeling the air grow thin. Eyes and lungs burning, she backed out of the room. The flames stretched out towards the Count’s corpse, looking for more to fuel the inferno. Amira turned away. She had seen enough horrors in Oblivion to last a lifetime.

The fight below had quieted. The Kvatch guard managed to slay the last of the lesser daedra, but took heavy casualties. No person seemed unharmed, and fresh corpses slumped on the ground. Matius looked up as Amira entered, his hopeful expression turning to confusion as she entered alone.

“Where’s the count? Why’s he not with you?” Matius called up.

Amira shook her head.

Matius looked panicked and dropped his sword. He scrambled up his steps and raced down the hall, only to be stopped by the wall of smoke filling the corridor. Sucking in a breath he dove through the cloud into the room.

“Matius! Stop dammit!” Amira called after him. She was ready to dive after him, but he stumbled out of the room, coughing and sputtering. Amira took him back out to the top of the steps, leaning him with her good arm. He stumbled and fell to his knees, staring at the floor.

“We were too late,” his voice was strained. Tears fell from Matius’s face. Amira crouched next to him, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. He leaned onto her, clenching his fists.

“If only we got here sooner!” he cried and punched the stone floor. His knuckles split, leaving behind a red spot of blood where his fist had impact.

Amira said nothing but watched the man in his grief. He hadn’t made an impression on Amira when they first met, she knew he didn’t think highly of her, but her opinion had changed as they fought alongside one another. He was a strong fighter, and his heart truly set towards saving Kvatch. Losing Count Goldwine struck a blow to Matius’ morale deeper than any sword could.

“Hey,” Amira nudged him. “We need to keep moving. This room’s filling up with smoke, we can’t stay here.”

Matius sat motionless.

“C’mon, Matius,” she urged him gently. “You’re captain, right? Your soldiers need a leader. Let’s get them out of here.”

He nodded slowly and pulled himself to his feet with a grunt. Wiping tears from his eyes he held up a hand and motioned for his group to fall back. He followed them, his steps heavier than they had been before. Amira began to follow him, then paused.

“Go on, I’ll follow,” she called, running back to the Great Hall. On the floor among the broken bodies of daedra and mortals alike was the sword Matius had thrown aside. She secured it to her belt then made her way with the rest of the Kvatch guard outside.

——

Grey clouds gathered over the broken city of Kvatch, though this time they were not great pillars of smoke. With a low and distant rumble of thunder, a light rain began to fall on the ruins. Amira looked up and closed her eyes. The cool drops felt wonderful against her hot skin. In addition to her broken arm, the blow left by the daedroth outside the temple began to bruise, leaving a brilliant purple mark under her eye. Under the rainclouds in the now-quiet city she felt some semblance of peace return to her.

“Guard,” Matius called out. The guard turned to him, looking exhausted but attentive.

“You all fought well,” Matius began, his voice cracking. He paused and drew a breath. “I’m immensely proud of all of you. Today you, and all our fallen, are true heroes.”

“But there’s someone we must give special thanks to,” he continued. “She had no duty to our city, she’s a stranger, yet she ran head first into danger anyway. Amira! Thank you for risking your own life for us.”

She looked up at him, surprised. The Kvatch guard turned to her and she felt her cheeks grow hot.

“Amira! Amira!” They let out a hearty cheer. Her face was red and she waved them off, garnering some laughter from the guards.

“Still, today is a dark day,” Matius’s voice grew grave. The crowd fell silent. “Count Goldwine has fallen. But we are still standing. We must continue to protect Kvatch. We mustn’t waver. We will persist! For Kvatch!”

“For Kvatch! For Kvatch!” the crowd replied. Even Amira couldn’t help but join in. Though she hadn’t been to Kvatch in many years before that day, she couldn’t help but feel connected to the city she now fought for twice and the people she fought alongside.

Matius walked over to her. He looked exhausted.

“Matius,” she began. “I’m sorry about the Count. I can see he meant a lot to you.”

“That’s alright,” he sighed. “After finding the survivors in the temple, I held out hope that maybe we could save him too. I realize now that was a frivolous thought. After all he was so deep within the castle, and of course Castle Kvatch would be one of the first places the daedra would target…”

Matius’s voice cracked again and Amira put her hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. His eyes filled with tears but he gave her a weak smile.

“By the way,” Amira pulled the sword Matius had dropped from where she holstered it. “You nearly left this behind.”

“Ah! Thank you,” he took it and placed it back in his sheathe. “Though, to be honest, I’m growing tired of fighting.”

“I can’t say I blame you,” Amira shrugged, sending a splitting surge of pain through her broken arm. She pulled it close to her side.

“Really though, Amira, thank you for all you’ve done for us,” he said and waved a guardswoman over. “I want to give you something, just as a small token of thanks.”

The soldier presented her with a Kvatch guard cuirass. Amira smiled and thanked her.

“Figured you’ve fought with us long enough to be an honorary member of our guard! Therefore, you deserve the armor to prove it,” Matius explained.

He helped Amira put it on over her beaten-up leather armor, careful of her injured arm. Amira looked down at the wolf emblem on her chest. A warm feeling rose in her.

“Thank you, Matius. I’m honored,” she said genuinely.

“It’s the least we can do for your service,” he replied.

Amira smiled at him, then straightened up. “Alright, what’s next, Captain?”

“Next, we go and rest!” he laughed wearily.

“Hear that, men?” he raised his voice. “File back to the camp with the other refugees! Get treatment for your wounds, rest, and drink as much as you want. You’ve deserved it!”

The group cheered, relieved that the fight was finally over. Thunder rumbled above them in unison. As they marched back in the rain Amira couldn’t help but think of seeds after a forest fire. Sometimes fire would break out in great woods, scorching the greenery. Yet in the earth would be the seeds from trees that only spread when their trunk were broken apart by the flames. The seeds would spread far and wide, then burst to life under the next rainfall. As the rain came down over the last of the smoldering ashes of Kvatch, Amira hoped silently that Kvatch would be like those seeds and spring forth under the cloudy skies.

 

——

 

Survivors from the temple had been escorted out after the guardsmen surged forward for Castle Kvatch. Martin waited among them. He looked towards the castle with some anticipation. Amira’s words understandably rattled him, and they echoed in his skull. How effortlessly the Redguard exclaimed he was the Emperor’s son! But could what she said really be true?

Martin’s father had died many years ago, his mother years before that. It wasn’t like he could ask them. He looked at his hands, calloused from years on the farm and monastery. They certainly didn’t look like royalty’s hands should. His past was nothing royal either, rambunctious years as a young adult followed by regret followed by a quiet life as a priest. The Oblivion Gate was, unfortunately, the most exciting thing to have happened in his life in years. If what Amira said was true, did that mean the gate had opened because of him?

A terrible feeling rose in Martin’s stomach. He shook his head, trying to ignore it. Even if it was true, it wasn’t a reality he could face at that moment. So much had happened that night, so much death and suffering, his mind was threatening to be swallowed by grief. He thought back to Amira and the way she looked at him as she left the temple. She was angry, furious even, at him. That was for sure. She had a right to, he realized later on. Guards who had returned to the camp spoke of a Redguard woman, strong and fierce, who dove through the Oblivion Gate and forced it shut.

 _She must be exhausted_ , he realized. Still, how could she just assume he would go with her? This woman who he had never met before, who came to him on what’s the worst day of his life, making insane claims and demanding he run away with her? It was outrageous!

“Preposterous woman,” he grumbled to himself, taking a seat next to the fire. He gazed into the fire. It was amazing how something that brought him comfort now seemed so terrifying the night before. Kvatch was a beautiful city. It wasn’t his first choice to be stationed there, but he had grown to love it dearly. He especially loved its citizens, so warm and welcoming. Many of whom now lay dead, and it was all his fault…

He balled his fists, fingernails digging into his palms. _No, Martin,_ he told himself. _Don’t think about that…_

Thankfully his thoughts were interrupted by a commotion. Down the winding path from the city came the last of the Kvatch guard, broken but proud. Savlian Matius took up the head, looking as though he was fighting back tears. Amira followed behind him, visibly injured but standing tall. The refugees cheered as they entered, surrounding the group. Family and friends hugged the guards tightly, while others cried out, realizing a loved one did not return. Martin opened his mouth to call for Amira, but he was cut off by an Argonian that ran towards her.

“Amira!” she called out. Amira raised her hand in greeting and the Argonian hugged her tightly, causing Amira to let out a yelp in pain.

“Oh, Gods, your arm! I’m sorry!” the Argonian let her go gently.

“That’s okay, Weedum-Ja!” Amira replied, though her eyes pricked with tears.

“They say you were the one to close the Oblivion gate!” Weedum-Ja said excitedly. “They’re calling you the Hero of Kvatch!”

Martin noticed Amira’s face flush red. She looked away from Weedum-Ja and stammered out some reply, causing the Argonian to laugh. Martin walked up to them now, clearing his throat politely.

“Brother Martin!” Weedum-Ja smiled. “I’m glad to see you well.”

“Thank you, Weedum-Ja. As I am to see you,” Martin nodded to her.

Amira looked at him with narrowed eyes. She was still angry.

“I’m sorry, do you think we could have a moment?” he asked Weedum-Ja.

“Of course,” she replied, giving Amira a final smile before stepping away. Amira regarded him coldly. She gripped her injured arm tightly.

“I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for Kvatch,” Martin began. “You have no idea how much it means to me or everyone else here-”

“Yeah, I know,” Amira cut him off. “Everyone’s pretty much said the exact same thing to me in the last fifteen minutes.”

Martin looked at her and shook his head. “Gods, you’re about as approachable as a slaughterfish aren’t you?”

“You’re not so agreeable yourself, you know,” she retorted. “You do realize I went to Oblivion and back for you, only for you to demand I go take back Castle Kvatch?”

Martin opened his mouth then closed it again. She had a point, as blunt as she was about it. Fighting the Kvatch guard seemed to have left her worse-for-wear, with a large bruise blooming across her cheek and arm hanging limply at her side. Martin reached for her and she stepped back.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m sorry for asking you to put yourself in danger for me again,” he sighed, not meeting her eyes. “Please, let me heal you as an apology.

He had caused enough deaths already, he realized. He didn’t want another on his hands. She looked at him skeptically, then stepped forward again and held up her arm. Pain flashed across her face as she did. Carefully, Martin undid the leather bracer around her forearm, letting it fall to the ground with a soft thud. Whatever had hit her arm hit with enough force to break her radial bone, but not her ulna. Blood pooled angrily under her skin, turning it red. Martin supported her arm with one hand and put another one on top of the break, gently. He heard Amira draw breath sharply when he did. The area where the wound was radiated heat under his cool hand.

Martin closed his eyes to focus. He drew energy up from deep within him. A heat grew in his chest, then up his arms, down his hands and from his fingertips to Amira’s skin. He whispered a quiet prayer of healing under his breath. The heat grew warmer and warmer, then suddenly began to fade. Amira gasped and he let go of her arm.

She twisted the once-broken arm, inspecting it closely. It was completely healed, the break set back in place and bone mended. She flexed her muscles before letting her arm drop, satisfied.

“That was pretty impressive,” Amira admit.

“Thank you. One more now,” Martin reached for her face.

“Wait hold…” Amira fell silent as Martin cupped the bruised side of her face. He brushed a thumb over her purpled cheekbone. He could feel long-faded scars breaking up the smoothness of her skin. Though she was older, her skin was still soft under his touch. He couldn’t help thinking about it as the restoration magicka flowed from his hand across her face. When he opened his eyes, Amira was staring at him, mouth agape in surprise and cheeks flushed red. Martin’s hand fell and he stepped back, embarrassed. He hadn’t realized how intimate the gesture probably seemed. His own face tinged with pink.

“Well,” Amira coughed and composed herself. “Now that Kvatch is safe, will you come with me?”

“That was my term, was it not?” Martin nodded. “I stand by it.”

“Good, then gather your things and let’s get going,” she replied. “My horse is by the edge of the tents. Meet me there in a few minutes.”

 

Martin gathered his things and stood by the painted horse waiting near the path toward the main road. He put a hand on the horse’s neck, petting is mane. All he brought was a small sack of supplies containing a day’s worth of rations and some magicka restoring potions, and a short dagger he secured at the waist. If whoever opened the Oblivion Gate was able to find him in quiet Kvatch, he figured there was some chance they would be followed on the way back to Chorrol. Martin looked over to Amira, standing across the camp. She was saying goodbye to Weedum-Ja. The Argonian leaned in to give a hug but hesitated, remembering Amira’s arm. Instead, Amira embraced her tightly, much to Weedum-Ja’s surprise. She showed off the newly-healed arm and the two laughed together.

He studied her. The leather armor she wore when they first met was less impressive, basic protective gear that became battered with nicks and cuts from her time fighting. On the other hand, the katana at her side was a long, impressive weapon. It was unlike anything Martin had seen, its blade curving just slightly and hilt displaying an intricate design. He silently wondered where she could have found it. The Kvatch cuirass she now wore suited her much better, its chainmail glittering from the earlier rain. Every time Martin saw her she stood straight-backed and proud, the edges of her lips tilted in either a smile or a scowl depending on her mood. Looking at her now, laughing with Weedum-Ja, he could believe she was the Hero of Kvatch.

A few minutes later Amira said her final farewell to Weedum-Ja and joined Martin alongside the horse. She hooked their supplies to its saddle and hoisted herself up.

“Alright, hop on,” she said.

“Behind you?”

“Well I can’t have you walk,” she offered her hand. Martin took it and pulled himself up awkwardly.

“Hold on to my waist, unless you want to be thrown off,” she instructed. He complied and she pressed her heel into the horse’s haunch. With a snort, the animal turned and started to trot down the path. Martin held onto her waist tightly. She was right, from his position towards the horse’s rear the animal’s gallop threatened to toss him aside. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable so close to her. As they turned the corner to the main road, Martin thought back to when he healed Amira’s cheek. It was amusing how she turned bright red… And her skin was so soft…

“Ack!” Martin grunted. He had loosened his grip on Amira’s waist as his mind wandered, nearly being thrown off as she brought the horse to a gallop. He grabbed her tightly to hold on.

“By Mara’s grace!” she grumbled. “I said to hold onto me, not to strangle me!”

“Sorry,” he replied. Now his cheeks were burning. He focused his mind to the road. It had grown dark as the sun slipped behind the hills. Martin had a feeling it was going to be a long night.


	9. Hackdirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amira tries to bring Martin to Jauffre, but exhaustion catches up with them first forcing the pair to make a detour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter so far. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

_I’ll admit, this wasn’t my best plan_ , Amira thought to herself.

Amira and Martin had been wandering through the Great Forest north of Skingrad for some time. The moon offered only a paltry amount of light as they trudged through the thick underbrush. What’s worse, Amira was throughly exhausted. Though Martin healed her wounds, it still required her body to expend energy to mend. With no time to rest and trotting through the quiet night, Amira struggled to keep her eyes open. Every so often she would slump forward, only to snap back up, nearly smacking Martin in the head. She quietly wondered if he noticed her exhaustion.

He had, of course. Every so often her body would go limp and Martin would give her a nudge, jolting her awake. If she was the former Emperor’s bodyguard, he thought, she didn’t seem to be quite good at it. At the same time, he couldn’t blame her. He had been wide awake since the siege on Kvatch began in the middle of the night before. He caught himself nearly falling asleep on her more than once.

Yet again, Amira’s shoulders slumped forward as she grew weary. This time, instead of jolting awake, she fell forward, arm draped across the horse’s neck.

“Whoa!” Martin yelled out and grabbed her, keeping her from falling off. “Amira, wake up!”

“Huh?” she replied groggily and straightened herself up. “Sorry, I just wanted to rest for a moment…”

“While you were riding a horse?”

“Seemed as good a time as any,” she shrugged.

“No, this isn’t working,” he shook his head. “You’re exhausted, I’m exhausted. We should make camp until morning.”

“Not a chance,” Amira said firmly.

“We’re never going to make it if you’re constantly falling asleep!”

“If we make camp out here and we’re both asleep we expose ourselves to an ambush,” she yawned. “It’s too risky.”

“We’re taking a risk being out here while exhausted as well,” he insisted. “We have no energy. If anything gets the jump on us, they’ll take us out easily.”

Amira fell silent. Martin figured she was considering his words, until she began to slump forward again.

“AMIRA!”

“What!” she snapped back to attention.

“We need to stop.”

“We are not stopping!”

“You’re absolutely impossible,” Martin shook his head. He looked at the dark forest around them. Its thick trees blotted out most of the moonlight. He heard nothing except for the clip-clopping of the horse’s hooves and Amira’s breathing. Out of the corner of his eye, a light caught his attention. In the distance, a small collection of amber light broke through the gloom.

“Look there,” he pointed. “That must be a village.”

Amira said nothing.

“Did you fall asleep again?”

“No, I’m awake.”

“We should go there.”

Silence.

“Amira…”

“I’m awake! I’m just thinking,” she sighed, irritated. He was right, they should stop. And a town _was_ better than taking up camp in the middle of the Great Forest. Still, Amira was worried. She had no idea how expansive the Mythic Dawn was, but if they managed to open a massive portal in the middle of a major city could that also mean they had agents hiding in a small town in the middle of nowhere? Then again, Martin was right. In her current state Amira hardly stood a chance against a well-rested ambush. And the idea of a warm, comfy bed, sounded really nice…

“Alright, let’s go,” she pulled the horses reins and directed it towards the source of the light.

——

The village was small and quiet. All the houses were shuttered up for the night. In the center of the town sat a well, situated around it was an inn, a shop, a temple and a few homes. Martin looked at the stained glass of the temple, but couldn’t tell which of the Nine it was devoted to through the darkness. Amira brought the horse to the side of the inn and climbed off, stretching her back.

“Quaint, don’t you think?” she remarked, scanning the village. She could have sworn she saw one of the shudders peak open out of the corner of her eye. But as she turned to look it was snapped shut.

“Must just be my tired imagination,” she muttered. “C’mon, lets hurry inside.”

Martin nodded and gathered their supplies the two quickly entered the building with the sign that read Moslin’s Inn.

The inn itself was less than impressive. It was old, unkept and shabby. Somehow the interior felt even darker than the night outside, dimly lit by a couple candles situated on the counter. A balding Imperial sat behind the counter reading a book. He snapped it shut as the pair approached.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

“Uh,” Amira was taken aback by his hostile atmosphere. “A room?”

“We got one. 30 gold a night.”

“You don’t have two?”

“No.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Martin whispered. “If we’re both going to sleep, we’ll watch each other’s back better if it’s in the same room.”

Amira nodded in agreement. “We’ll take it.”

“Fine,” the man grumbled and slid them a key. “Room’s up the stairs, to the right. Checkout’s at sunrise.”

“Okay,” Amira paid the man and took the key. “Thanks.”

He snorted in reply. The two walked up the rickety, dust-covered stairs. Martin sneezed.

“That was quite the warm welcome,” Amira whispered once they were out of earshot. “You think he’d need all the customers he could get. This place seems deserted.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Martin said sarcastically. “Though, it’s the middle of the night. I’d be grumpy if I was woken up.”

“I don’t think he was sleeping, he seemed pretty engrossed in whatever he was reading. Oh well, here’s our room,” Amira slid the key into the lock and opened the door.

Like the rest of the inn, it was dingy and dark. Everything seemed to be covered in a thick layer of dust, as though it hadn’t been swept in Eras. The worst part, Amira realized with growing dread, was the bed. That is, there was only one. She covered her face with her hands and silently screamed. She had just met this man, who so far was stubborn as a mudcrab and drove her a little insane and she was going to have to share a bed with him? She couldn’t even remember the last time she shared a bed with someone she liked, let alone with some stranger!

“Are you okay?” Martin asked, looking at her with confusion.

“Yep, I’m great, just tired!” Amira insisted, marching into the room. “Let’s just get to bed.”

The two fell silent, though the air between them was tense with words unsaid. It was clearly awkward for the both of them. Amira had her back to him, trying to ignore the blush clearly present across her cheeks. She was always so bad at hiding her emotions, especially when she was flustered or embarrassed. She pulled off the heavy Kvatch cuirass and folded it neatly, placing it gently on the room’s wooden table. The leather armor underneath was sticky with an unappealing mix of blood and sweat from the days earlier excursions. Jauffre had gifted Amira a linen tunicand spun trousers along with her armor, a gift she was grateful for now. She rolled her tense shoulders, stiff from wearing her armor all day.

Martin wore a simple pair of tunic and trousers under his black vestments, now folded neatly beside the bed. The two looked at each other then looked away. _Gods, why is this so awkward?_ He thought to himself.

“Look, this is a strange situation, I know,” Amira broke the awkward silence. “But we’re both exhausted. Lets just go to bed and be done with it.”

“Yes, agreed,” Martin sighed in relief, grateful to her for saying it. The two climbed into bed and quickly flipped so their backs were to each other. Amira, previously exhausted, now sat tense in bed. Why was she so damn uncomfortable? She silently cursed to herself. Mercenary work would often require her to sleep in close quarters next to people she barely knew, how was this any different? Yes, she reassured herself, this was no different than that! Yet as she felt the warmth of the body next to her, something stirred in Amira’s chest. She thought back to when he healed the bruise on her face, how he cupped her face so gently. His lips had moved in silent prayer as warmth spread from his hand across her cheek. It was so close, so intimate! And he did it all without a second thought, only realizing how little distance was between them after the fact… Amira pushed the thoughts from her head.

It was all too much. _Well, at least I’m not dreaming of flaming corpses_ , she thought to herself, shuddering at the memory of the body hanging from the chains of the prison tower. The weird, warm thoughts of Martin were certainly better than the alternative, she reassured herself. Amira squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She drifted off to sleep slowly, thinking again of the warmth of his hand on her cheek.

——

A creaky floorboard awoke Martin just before daybreak. Amira was snoring softly, sound asleep, one arm splayed up above her head, the other across her chest. She was exhausted, that’s for sure. Martin lay silent in the darkness, eyes awake but unmoving.

_My imagination?_ He thought, then heard the creak again. No, something was moving through the rickety old inn. Martin flipped over, ready to nudge Amira awake.

“Hey…” he began, but his voice caught in his throat. Over Amira’s side of the bed stood a tall, muscular figure. Martin froze. Was that thing really there, or was he dreaming? He watched it reach over towards Amira’s neck and violently…

_Oh no,_ Martin reached under his pillow and pulled out his dagger as Amira choked out, writhing as the figure closed its hands around her throat. She struggled to breathe, eyes darting wildly trying to figure out what was going on, why she was ripped from her slumber. Amira pried at the fingers around her neck, unable to get enough of a grip to pull them off. She sputtered, the edges of her vision going dark.

_THWOCK!_

Martin dagger stuck out of the side of the creature’s skill. It backed up, finally releasing Amira, before crumpling to the ground. She gasped for breath, her lungs burning, before coughing violently.

“Are you okay?” Martin asked with concern, propping her up.

She grunted and nodded, rubbing her neck.

“I think so,” she replied coarsely. “What the hell was that? Mythic Dawn?”

Amira stood up and grabbed the katana resting at her bedside. Martin conjured up a flame that engulfed his hand, but did not burn. It illuminated the room in a soft orange glow. On the ground lay what looked like a man but… wrong. The man’s face was narrow, with a flat nose, but he sported bizarrely large eyes. It was like someone took a Guar or a fish’s eyes and placed them on a human face, now glassy and staring at the ceiling.

“What in Oblivion IS that,” Amira asked, still panting.

“I don’t know. It came out of nowhere… I thought it was some sort of nightmare,” Martin shook his head. Amira bent down and pulled the dagger out of the bug-eyed man’s skull and handed it back to Martin.

“Get dressed and ready. We’re leaving,” Amira ordered.

Martin did as she said, quickly dressing. Though they had been awakened in the middle of sleeping, the short rest gave Amira the energy she needed to feel revitalized. She donned her armor and flexed, feeling it press against her muscles. Securing the katana to her waist, she pulled back strands of hair out of her face, bringing it all back into the tight, neat bun she sported the day before. Martin dressed in his vestments and wiped the blood off the dagger, grateful for bringing it.

“Before we get out of here, I want to have a word with the owner,” Amira growled, cracking her knuckles. “I have a complaint.”

Amira stuck her head out the door, peering around. No more of the strange men seemed to be in the halls. In fact, the entire building seemed to be deserted. Even the innkeeper had disappeared from his desk in the front room.

“Damn!” Amira swore and slammed a fist on the counter. “That skeever bastard. I bet he sicked that weirdo on us and ran for the hills!”

Martin looked around the darkened inn. It didn’t seem like there had ever been any other people there besides himself, Amira and the innkeeper. The book the man left behind sat facedown on the counter. He picked it up and inspected it.

“ _Bible of the Deep Ones_ …” he read out loud.

“Is that a religious text?” Amira asked.

“If it is, it’s not one I’m familiar with,” Martin flipped it open and skimmed the first page. “ _Given to me by the Chief of the Deep Ones. He taught me his language and his runes. This is the ancient lore of his people which we shall follow from now until forever… Signed in the presence of twelve witnesses, Irlav Moslin_.”

“Isn’t that the name of the inn?”

“I think so,” he replied and turned the page. His eyes went wide. “Oh my…”

“What?”

“The rest is all in daedric,” he turned the book to show her. Amira tensed.

“It’s strange, though,” Martin skimmed further, his brow furrowing. “The words make no sense when you translate them. They’re completely incomprehensible.”

“Wait, you speak daedric?”

“No, but I can read it fairly well.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“It’s a long story,” he sighed. “Not as interesting as it may seem, I promise.”

“Okay,” Amira decided to drop it for now. “Look let’s not waste anymore time here. Mythic Dawn or not, I smell trouble. We should really get going.”

Whatever Martin’s reply was, it was cut off by a quiet sound. The two fell silent and turned toward the counter. It sounded like a faint, feminine voice. Behind the table was a small trap door, hidden neatly from casual view by the chair the innkeeper originally sat in. Again, they heard a voice, a little louder this time…

“ _Help!_ ”

Martin turned towards Amira.

“No, oh no,” She began, shaking her head violently. “We are NOT going down there Martin. There’s no way this isn’t a trap! Its too perfect! Attacked during the middle of the night, now as we’re about to leave we hear someone calling out for help? There’s no way this isn’t a trap!”

Martin frowned at her and crossed his arms. He wasn’t budging.

“I… Oh by the Nine, you are the absolute worst, do you know that?” Amira huffed and dropped the ground inspecting the lock. “I’d wring your neck myself if I could, you know that? You’re insufferable. Absolutely the worst.”

“Thank you,” Martin replied dryly. Amira shot him a look.

Standing up she unsheathed her katana and positioned the pointed end between the hoop of the lock. She brought her fist down, hard, on the top of its handle, shattering the worn old metal. She resheathed her sword and kicked the door open with her foot. A dark passage stared up at them.

“If we’re going to do this, stick close to me to me okay?” Amira ordered. He nodded and she dropped down into the passage. Martin followed close behind.

——

Like the rest of the town, the cavernous passageway seemed dark and dirty. Amira and Martin climbed down a splintered wooden ladder, reaching the bottom with a quiet thud that echoed off the rock walls. It seemed they were deep, deep below the small village. The only source of light came from a torchlight next to what was seemed to be a large cage. A small voice weeped inside.

“Help, help,” the girl cried weakly to herself. “Oh Gods…”

Amira and Martin looked at each other. He quietly sneaked forward, with Amira following close behind as a lookout.

“Hey there, are you okay?” he called out in a quiet voice.

The girl looked up. She was a young Argonian with red-and-green scales. Two buddinghorns poked out of her head, indicating her young age. Her red eyes were filled with tears but they lit up at the sight of the duo.

“Please, you have to let me out of here!” she cried out.

“Shh! Quiet now,” Amira hushed her. “Of course we’ll help you, but you need to stay quiet.”

The girl nodded with a sniffle. Amira moved to the cage and began inspecting the lock.

“Do you know why you’re locked here?” Martin asked.

“T-Those horrible creatures kidnapped me! I was asleep at the inn when I woke up to a sound in the middle of the night. All of the sudden this… man… thing with massive eyes was standing over me. He grabbed me and dragged me down to this cage,” She shook her head, eyes welling with tears. “I was so scared.”

“That sounds familiar,” Martin glanced over at Amira. She brought her sword out again and brought it clashing against the metal with a _KLANG_. Once again, the lock fell to her feet. The metal door swung open and the Argonian dashed out, embracing Amira tightly.

“Oh thank you, thank you!” she cried, tears streaming down her face.

“Oof! Don’t mention it!” Amira pat her head. “Let’s get a move on.”

“Wait!” the Argonian looked at them. “I didn’t even ask you names!”

“I’m Martin and this is Amira,” he gestured toward himself and his companion.

“Thank you, Martin and Amira,” the girl bowed. “My name’s Dar-Ma.”

“Okay, Dar-Ma. Let’s get go-” Amira’s voice fell and she put a finger to her lips. A chant rose among the shadows deep within the cave. A dozen voiced join together in a monotone call, in a language unfamiliar to Amira or Martin.

She pointed at Dar-Ma and Martin, then to the wooden ladder they had descended through the trap door earlier. Martin nodded and took the Argonian’s hand, gently leading her back up the path. Amira unsheathed her katana and slipped into the shadows out of torchlight. She stuck close to the walls, careful with her steps.

The tunnel eventually opened up into a large room. A dozen robed figures stood encircled in the middle of the room, chanting rhythmically. In the middle of the group sat a stone alter, a single silver dagger lying in the middle of it. They grasped each others hands and swayed to-and-fro as they spoke, their voices a din on the otherwise silent morning.

“ _Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Deep Ones R’lyeh wgah-nagl fhtagn_ … _Take the Argonian’s life as a worthy sacrifice…_ ”

Amira’s chest tightened. They were cult members, that was for sure. But they seemed different from the Mythic Dawn she met before. For one, the circle before her donned black robes, not red ones. And why had they attacked her and not Martin? She frowned. Whoever they were, they seemed dangerous, but they didn’t appear to be part of the king-killers as far as she was concerned.

She scanned the crowd. None of the faces she made out were any she recognized, save for one. The innkeeper stood just outside the circle, chanting with them while reading from a black tome. It looked similar to the one she and Martin found upstairs, only his book seemed much older. As Amira looked closer she realized the cultists were not in the cave alone. Around them were a dozen large-eyed, muscular men like the one that attacked her earlier that night. They stood motionless, unblinking in the darkness.

Amira leaned forward, her head just poking out of the shadows, hoping to get a better look at the strange men. One of them suddenly snapped its head in her direction, bulging eyes trained on her. She pulled back and began to slowly back away. The man turned its body to the same direction of its head, now stalking up the pathway that lead to the tunnel where she hid.

_Shit!_ Amira sheathed her katana and broke into a run. The man barreled after her, fast despite how top-heavy his swollen chest seemed to be. By the time Amira reached the wooden ladder, he was nearly on top of her. She scrambled up the planks but the creature caught her by the foot.

“Dammit!” Amira yelled and banged on the trapdoor. “Martin, Dar-Ma, open up!”

The man dug its fingers into her leg, trying to rip her off the ladder. She grunted and kicked out her free leg, catching it one of the man’s bulging eyes. It stumbled back, grabbing its face in pain and releasing her.

“Hurt!” it bellowed, rubbing at its eye. “Bad lady!”

Amira tried to push thedoor open to no avail. Farther down the path towards where she witness the cultists, Amira heard the distinct patter of bare feet, but beyond that nothing. The chanting had stopped. She turned back to the door, pounding on it furiously.

“Martin, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” Amira screamed. Suddenly the trap door flew open and two pairs of arms reached down, pulling her through the opening. Amira glanced behind her as she went up into the air. The bug-eyed man was on his feet again and reaching to grab again. As soon as she was through the door Amira slammed it shut and threw herself on top. The creature yowled below her, banging on the thin layer of wood separating them.

“Grab something heavy!” she ordered. Martin and Dar-Ma scrambled, dragging a dilapidated bookshelf covered in dust from the corner over to where Amira sat crouched over thetunnel.

“On my count, I’ll move and you tip it over!” Amira readied herself, the creature’s pounding became more fervent. “Okay, go!”

She dove out of the way and the bookshelf came crashing down on top of the trap door. The strange man managed to push it open for only a moment. His large eyes peered out over the crack, filled with rage, only to fall crashing down as the heavy wooden shelf lay atop the door. They heard him fall to the tunnel’s dirt ground with a loud _THUD_ , then silence.

“Thank Akatosh,” Amira sighed in relief. “I thought for sure the bastard nabbed me!”

“Sorry, we got distracted,” Martin frowned and waved her over to a shuttered window. “I think you better have a look at this.”

Amira dusted herself off and went over to him, cracking the blind open. Dawn had finally broke over the town, revealing scenery the dark night had previously hidden. The small town with its shabby houses, shop and temple all looked the same, but in the daylight Amira could now see long-ago burned ruins crumpled just outside the center of town.

“It looks like the town was razed,” she bit her lip, her heart rate rising. “What exactly’s going on here?”

“You mean, you haven’t heard of Hackdirt?” Dar-Ma asked. Martin and Amira shook their heads.

“My Mama warned me about Hackdirt before I left but… I thought she was just kidding. She said there’s been a lot of strange rumors about the town over the years. Whisper in Chorrol about people disappearing, that they were bein’ offered up as sacrifices by the townsfolk. Apparently, some years back, the Imperial Legion took wind of what everyone was saying and ransacked the place, burning it to the ground. Things quieted down after that but recently, well, people started talking again I guess…

“I thought they were just that, rumors!” Dar-Ma continued, curling her tail around her waist tightly. “I didn’t think they could be true, I thought it was just them people in the city spreading nasty lies. It all seemed so interesting though, the idea of a mysterious town with a dark past… That’s why I came to Hackdirt. Wanted to see it for myself. I never thought…”

“You never thought you’d be their next sacrifice,” Amira replied dryly.

“Exactly.”

“Well I can’t blame you for being curious,” she sighed. “But you’re lucky we arrived when we did, otherwise you’d end up on that stone slab downstairs.”

Dar-Ma’s red eyes filled up with tears again.

“Oh my,” Amira stammered. “That came out wrong, what I meant to say-”

“What my companion meant is we’re both glad you’re alright,” Martin interrupted, placing a comforting hand on Dar-Ma’s shoulder. The Argonian sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Yes exactly,” Amira shot him a thankful look, embarrassed at her bluntness. She turned her attention back to the window. Suddenly her eyes grew wide. The abandon town was no longer deserted. The buff, wide-eyed men had appeared, stalking around town with their large, unblinking eyes. Amira quickly closed the blinds before it could catch their attention.

“Shit, we have to get out of here,” she frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “This place is crawling with those weird man-creatures.”

“Crawling?” Martin asked. “You mean they’re in the square?”

“Yeah.”

“How will we possibly be able to get out?”

“I’m working on that. I think I have an idea…”

She walked over to the countertop and drew a circle in the dust, making a few squares in a rough semicircle on its inside, marking one of the squares with an X.

“This is the inn, right? I tied the horse just to the side, here,” she drew in the dust as she explained. “If we run out this door as fast as we can, you two can grab the horse and head north toward Chorrol, this way. You have riding experience, right Martin?”

“Yes,” he replied skeptically. “But what about you?”

“I’ll distract them then join you in the forest once I figure you’re a safe distance away.”

“Won’t you get hurt?” Dar-Ma asked, worried.

“Oh hon,” Amira grinned, resting the unsheathed katana on her shoulder. “I spent the whole day yesterday toe-to-toe with Dremora soldiers in the fiery pits of Oblivion. I can handle a bunch of shirtless men with weird eyes.”

“You… what?” Dar-Ma tilted her head.

“Never mind her,” Martin sighed. “Seeing I have no other ideas, I suppose this will have to do.”

“Fantastic,” Amira straightened up. “Then get ready to run.”

Dar-Ma nodded and Martin unsheathed his dagger. Amira approached the wooden door and put an ear to it. She didn’t want to risk peeking around it, as the large eyes on the men seemed to make them particularly perceptive to small movements. Beyond the door she could hear the padding of bare feet on dry soil and the sound of grunting. She couldn’t tell how many there were.

“Okay…” she braced herself. “… Run!”

Throwing the door open wide, the trio stepped out into the center of town. Immediately the ten or so wide-eyed men that were stalking around the village turned their bulging faces towards the sound. Amira squared her stance and prepared her katana.

“Go!” she ordered them. Martin took Dar-Ma’s hand and pulled her around the corner of the inn towards where they had tied the horse the day before. It was still standing unharmed, but unfortunately so was one of the bug-eyed men.

“Bad people!” it bellowed and began to charge towards the pair. Dar-Ma yelped and hid behind Martin. He raised a hand towards the raging man and muttered something under his breath. The air around his fingers began to crackle with energy, heat building across his skin. Suddenly, a ball of fire erupted from his hand. It shot out toward the man and hit him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the brush. He lay splayed on the ground, alive but unconscious.

“Wow!” Dar-Ma gasped, her eyes glittering. “That was amazing!”

“Come on!” Martin took her hand again and lead her to the horse. Behind him he heard the sounds of Amira’s fighting, the Redguard’s grunting mixed with the sound of blade hitting bone and the distinctive wails of injured creatures. So far, she seemed to have the situation under control, but Martin didn’t want to dawdle. He helped Dar-Ma onto the horse’s back before climbing up and taking the reins.

“Hang on,” he ordered and clicked his heels into the horse’s haunch, hard. The animal whinnied and took off into the forest, hooves pounding against the brush.

As they road off Martin looked behind him for Amira. She stood in the center of town, the wide-eyed men surrounding her on all sides. His heart tightened, panicked for a moment. Maybe it had been a mistake to leave her to fend for herself after all! But Martin’s fear was dismissed as he watched the woman swing her katana down over her head, glittering in the morning light, and cut through the men that stood before her. With no armor to protect their vital organs, Amira slashed through her foes with ease, sending a spray of scarlet up into the air. It was both mesmerizing - and terrifying - to watch how effortlessly she fought. Her expression was twisted into a wide smile of adrenaline-filled excitement. It was clear she was in her element.

Martin shuddered and tore his eyes away from the scene, steering the horse through the dense forest. It wasn’t until the sounds of fighting had long faded behind them that Martin finally slowed down.

——

“Maybe we should go back for her,” Dar-Ma said, anxiously scanning the brush behind them for some sign of Amira.

“No, she told us to wait here for her,” Martin replied. Still, he couldn’t help but feel nervous too. It had been about an hour since they decided to stop in the Great Forest, just a few miles south of Chorrol. They hadn’t seen Amira since she was standing in the middle of Hackdirt, cutting down the bug-eyed men, a half hour before that. She seemed to have been doing just fine when they left, but anxiety still hung heavy in his stomach. Amira was strong, but the creatures easily outnumbered her. It was easily possible she had been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of them. After all, he had seen it the night before in Kvatch. Many strong guardsmen had been easily overtaken by lesser scamps, the creatures ripping through their armor and tearing at their skin…

“It’s been nearly an hour now, what if she’s hurt?” Dar-Ma broke through Martin’s thoughts.

“That’s a possibility,” he replied. “But if we go trudging through the forest now and Amira’s on her way here, there’s a greater chance we’ll miss each other or get lost.”

“True,” Dar-Ma frowned. “I just… I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“Me neither,” he said quietly.

The two returned to nervously scanning the forest. Suddenly, the brush from the path they took began to rustle. Someone, grunting loudly, had followed them. Martin bristled and readied his magicka, fire crackling in his palms. Dar-Ma backed up and cowered behind the horse, peeking out behind. A muscular person broke through the forest and stepped out into the small clearing.

“Amira!” Martin let out a sigh of relief and lowered his hand. Dar-Ma jumped out from behind the horse, cheering in delight.

“When I told you two to run, you took it seriously!” she was panting and leaned against a tree to rest, a large smile on her face.

“You’re okay! How did you… Oh!” Dar-Ma had ran forward to embrace Amira but stopped. The older woman’s face and chest was covered in blood.

“You’re hurt?” the Argonian asked, concerned.

“No, no,” Amira waved a hand. “None of this is mine. Besides a few tired muscles, I’m quite alright.”

“Oh my,” Martin thought back to the spray of blood when she stood in the middle of Hackdirt. It made sense.

“Yuck,” Dar-Ma crinkled her scaly nose. “It’s… kind of gross.”

“Thanks!” Amira looked proud.

“In any case, we’re glad you’re back safe,” Martin stepped forward and offered Amira a rag he had stored in his travel bag. She took it with a smile.

“So, what’s next then?” Amira asked, wiping the viscera from her face.

“Um,” Dar-Ma looked at the ground, wiring her tail between her hands. “I know you two have done so much for me already, but do you think you could escort me back to Chorrol? I’m a bit afraid to go on my own.”

“Only a bit?” Amira joked. “I’d be terrified!”

“Well, yeah,” the scales around Dar-Ma’s cheekbones flittered, turning a lavender color. She was blushing.

“I don’t see why not. We were headed in that direction, weren’t we?” Martin asked Amira. She nodded.

“Oh, thank you so much!” Dar-Ma exclaimed and embraced Martin tightly. “I just want to go home and see my Mama!”

“Of course,” Martin chuckled and awkwardly pat the young lizard-like girl on her head. Amira snorted and he shot her a look.

“Let’s head out then,” Amira commanded and walked over to the painted horse, petting its mane. “Dar-Ma you should ride, seeing as you’re the youngest. Martin, you can too since you’re… Uh, the second youngest.”

“I beg your pardon?” he raised an eyebrow. “What makes you assume that?”

“I’m definitely older than you.”

“You don’t look that old to me!”

“Well, thank you for that I suppose. But I absolutely am.”

“How old are you?”

“Fiftyone,” she replied.

He opened his mouth then closed it again. She was older than him. She grinned, triumphant.

“Alright,” he replied, waving a hand. “But I’m not going to ride while you walk. I’ll walk with you as well.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged and took the horse’s reins. Martin helped Dar-Ma into the saddle and Amira urged the horse forward. Together the three left Hackdirt behind and made their way towards the city.

——

It turned out Chorrol was closer to Hackdirt than Amira or Martin realized. The cultish village was barely an hour from city limits, and the trio arrived not long after setting out. As they approached the gates Dar-Ma gasped and scrambled off the horse, racing forward.

“Mama!” she called out and nearly knocked over an older Argonian. The lizard-like woman had pretty emerald scales and wore a pretty burgundy dress. She cried at the sight of Dar-Ma and hugged her tightly, tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh, Dar-Ma! My beautiful daughter,” she sobbed, holding her close. “I was so worried when I saw you left, I thought you’d never return!”

“Oh Mama, I’m so sorry,” Dar-Ma pulled herself away and smiled sadly at her mother. “I shouldn’t of been so rash… I thought you were just being overprotective!”

“No, my _thtithil-leel_ , I’m sorry,” her mother cupped Dar-Ma’s face tenderly. “I know your adventurous spirit. I should have tried to foster it, not quash it out and force you to sneak behind my back…”

Dar-Ma’s mother looked up, finally noticing Amira and Martin who were watching nearby.

“And who is this that brought you back?” she asked.

“Amira and Martin!” Dar-Ma explained with glee. “They’re the humans that saved me!”

Her mother stood and went over to the pair, giving them a deep bow.

“I cannot thank you enough for bringing my daughter back to me,” she said, rising to look at them with kind pink eyes. “She is my everything, I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost her.”

“Please, don’t mention it,” Amira smiled at the woman. “It was the least we could do.”

“I wish I could give you something in return, but I’m sorry to say I have nothing. But, if you ever find yourself in Chorrol please come by my shop, Northern Goods and Trade and ask for me, Seed-Neeus. I would be more than happy to give you supplies.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” Amira replied with a small bow of her own.

“Come on, Dar-Ma,” Seed-Neeus took her daughter by the hand. “Let’s go home.”

“Goodbye Martin, goodbye Amira!” Dar-Ma called as she entered the Chorrol gates. “Good luck!”

The two watched Dar-Ma and her mother go, waving goodbye. Martin caught a smile at the edge of Amira’s lips. She looked happy.

“Aren’t you glad I made us stop?” Martin joked. Immediately Amira’s expression changed to annoyance and she glared at him. He pretended not to notice.

She clicked her tongue and let out a sigh.

“Yes, I suppose so,” she finally said. “But Gods, if we have anymore setbacks I feel like Jauffre might have my head!”

“You don’t think he’d be grateful you delivered me?”

“Well, yes,” she frowned. “But when I left him he seemed… Anxious. Rushed even. I think the Oblivion Gate opening in Kvatch surprised him.”

“He wasn’t the only one,” Martin replied dryly.

“Ah, right,” Amira shook her head. She lacked tact, as usual. “Anyway, let’s not delay anymore. The Weynon Priory is just outside of Chorrol, it shouldn’t take us long to make it there.”

“Right,” Martin nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

The two remounted the horse with Amira again at the reins. With a light kick she ushered the horse forward and the two finally head for the destination, the Weynon Priory.


	10. Return to the Priory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reuniting Dar-Ma with her mother, Martin and Amira finally make it to their destination. But things are not peaceful at the priory.

Despite the rude awakening, and their unexpectedly close proximity to Chorrol, Amira was secretly glad Martin convinced her to stop in Hackdirt and to save Dar-Ma. She had wanted to make it to Weynon Priory as fast as possible, but the look on Seed-Neeus’s face at the return of her daughter made the excursion worth it. The two obviously had a strong bond. The very thought that the person Seed-Neeus loved so much was nearly ripped away from her, had she and Martin not heard Dar-Ma’s quiet yell brought sadness to Amira’s heart. She didn’t just love her child, she cared about her.

_ To love a child like that is a beautiful thing,  _ Amira thought, looking up at the clear blue sky _. _ The face of her own mother drifted into her mind, features dulled by time and hidden behind a hazy memory. She remembered a tangle of large, beautiful brown hair, the warmth of campfires on cold desert nights, of jokes whispered among family and friends that knew her, and of course of funeral pyre smoke reaching up into lonely skies. Amira bit the inside of her cheek sharply, breaking the train of thought.  _ None of that, now _ , she told herself and sat a little straighter in the saddle. 

“Everything alright?” Martin asked from behind. “You’re tensing up.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just thinking.” 

The two fell back into silence. Martin was thinking of Seed-Neeus too and his own father. He was an older farmer, as was his father before him, his father before him and so on. They worked the dirt from a young age until they themselves returned to it, or their own child took over the farm and they could sit on the front porch of their small cottage whittling wood between arthritic fingers. His father was disappointed when Martin confessed didn’t want to join the family business with his older brothers, but was so proud when he decided to take up the cloth. His father would boast to the other members of their small village about how his youngest, his Martin, was going to be a priest of Akatosh! 

Martin remembered the beaming smile across the old farmer’s wrinkled face. He was always understanding of Martin, even when he did foolish things like run away from home during a rebellious phase. When he finally came back to his father, penniless and wary of the world, the old man simply smiled and told him welcome home. 

The memory brought an uneasy feeling in Martin’s stomach as he recalled it now. Had his father known Martin wasn’t his biological son? Did he care? Or did the lowly potato farmer know the boy he raised was secretly the bastard son of the Emperor? And what about his brothers? Many of them had moved away by the time Martin came of age, married off and ready to start farms of their own. Did they ever know their youngest brother wasn’t truly theirs?

Tears stung Martin’s eyes. His heart ached deeply. The family he loved so deeply, the only one he ever knew, suddenly felt alien to him. Everything he knew about himself was a lie, and the thought terrified him. He had agreed to go with Amira, but it only just now struck him that he was being brought to a task he had never before imagined taking. How could he possibly live up to their expectations? What if more Gates opened like in Kvatch and more people died? The thought made him nauseous. 

“You okay?”

Martin hadn’t realized but he had leaned forward and rested his head on Amira’s shoulder. She looked back at him now with a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Yes, sorry,” Martin replied, averting his eyes. “Just… Thinking.”

“You’re crying.”

He touched his face, surprised to find his cheeks wet with tears. 

“Oh, so I am.”

She frowned at him before turning back towards the road. He felt embarrassed, a knot forming in his stomach. It was rude on him to lean on her like that, let alone cry on her shoulder…

“You… We… Have had a rough couple days.”

He looked up at her. Amira’s back was to him, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“We both had what’s likely the worst night of our lives, are operating with about four hours of sleep, and we just escaped whatever hellish thing it is Hackdirt was,” she continued. “It’s only natural you’d have a lot of emotions around that.”

He blinked, then let out a quiet chuckle. She glanced over her shoulder, eyebrow raised.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just,” he smiled. “I think that might be the most tactful thing you’ve said to me so far.”

“Oh,” she rolled her eyes. “Please don’t ruin this moment.”

“I’m sorry. Thank you, genuinely. I do appreciate your words but, to be honest, it wasn’t quite what I was thinking about.”

“Yeah?” she paused. For a moment it seemed like she wanted to ask him more but she stayed quiet. They weren’t friends, they barely knew each other. Amira didn’t want to pry… Except she did. He started crying on her out of nowhere, apparently not because of the horrific events of Kvatch. She wanted to ask why he was crying but she couldn’t find the words. 

_ You weak bastard _ , a nasty thought whispered in her ear.  _ Too afraid you might say the wrong thing, so you say nothing at all! Some help you are _ . She gripped the reins to the horse tightly, trying to focus her mind back to the road. 

“Weynon Priory should be right past this hill,” she broke the silence between them. “Jauffre will be able to help you from here.

“Thank you for taking me here,” Martin replied. 

“It was nothing.”  _ Some help I was! _ She thought again. Her mouth felt dry.

A young man came running over the hill. He was a dunmer in stablehand clothing whom Amira recognized as the shepherd that tended to the animals at the priory. When he spotted Amira and Martin he began to race towards them, a frantic look on his face. Amira slowed the horse as he approached, out of breath.

“You! You’re the Redguard they sent to find the boy!” he panted. “You must help, they’re killing everyone at the Priory!”

“What?” Amira felt herself tense. “Slow down, what do you mean?” 

“I don’t know, they can’t out of nowhere! Prior Maborel is dead!” 

“Who’s they?”she snapped. “You need to give us more details!”

“I’m sorry, I… I was in the pasture when they attacked. I heard the Prior talking to someone. Looked around the corner to see who it was. They looked like travellers, ordinary. Suddenly weapons appeared in their hands and they cut the Prior down before he could move! They saw me watching and I ran.”

“Where’s Jauffre?”

“I don’t know… In the chapel praying, I think,” he grabbed Amira’s leg, looking up at her with terrified eyes. “You must help us!”

She nodded. “Go into Chorrol and summon the guard. I’ll go to the Priory. And hurry!”

The dunmer stumbled back and ran down the path. Amira glanced back at Martin.

“When we get there, stay close.” 

He nodded. With a kick to the horse they shot forward, racing up the hill to the Priory. As they rounded the ridge they came upon a dastardly sight. Prior Maborel lay dead in the middle of the grounds, his head caved in by a mace. Three red-clad assassins surrounded Brother Piner, who kept them at bay with his own gold-hilted Akaviri katana. But he was struggling to push back against them.

“Amira, lean over!” Martin ordered. 

“Okay!” she leaned forward, her face close to the horse’s mane. Placing one hand on her for balance, Martin lifted his other hand and pointed it towards the three invaders. He mouthed a prayer and from his hand shot a burning missile of fire. It struck the assailant directly in front of Piner, engulfing them in a ball of flames. The man shrieked as he was lit ablaze, crumpling to the ground.

“Gods, nice shot!” Amira grinned back to him. “Here, take the reins!” 

He grabbed them and Amira slid off the horse, tumbling skillfully to her feet. She unsheathed her katana and dove forward. One of the two remaining assassins was running towards her, mace held high. Amira blocked the blow, catching the blunt weapon on her sword. The Mythic Dawn agent pushed their weight against her.

“We will kill the bastard Septim!” they snarled.

“Not today, you cherry-colored fuck!” Amira pushed back against them, throwing them off her. The assassin stepped back before rushing forward again, attempting to catch the side of Amira’s trunk. She stepped backward from the blow before slashing out with her long blade. The katana caught the mace arm of the Mythic Dawn cultist, sending the weapon flying from their grasp. The cultist yelled out, reflexively grabbing at their bleeding arm. Amira advanced again and punched them, square in the jaw, sending the hooded figure reeling. With a final stab of her blade, she sent her katana through the cultist’s chest. 

As Amira was fighting, Martin had dismounted the painted horse and ran to Brother Piner’s assistance. He didn’t expect to do much damage with his dagger, but he was already preparing another fireball to send hurdling. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance. As soon as the cultist noticed Martin running in his direction, he abandoned Piner and made a beeline for the priest. 

Skidding to a stop Martin dropped to a knee and put a hand to the ground, quickly whispering a prayer. A wall of fire shot up between them. The assassin fell to the ground, just a few inches short of being incinerated by the flames. Scuttling back, they didn’t notice Brother Piner come up behind them. He brought down his katana with deadly accuracy, easily decapitating his foe.

“Where’s Jauffre?” Amira called out, pushing the dead Mythic Dawn agent off her sword. 

“In the chapel, hurry!” Piner called, rushing to its doors. Amira joined him, followed by Martin once he dispelled the flames. They threw open the doors of the temple to find Jauffre standing at its head. Five assailants in Mythic Dawn garb were trying to overwhelm him, but the former Blade fought them off with skill. 

“The bastard Septim!” one called out at the sight of Martin. Amira stepped in front of him, ready to defend. Piner dashed forward, trying to reach Jauffre’s side, and locked blades with one of the cultists. Two came towards Amira, their sights set on Martin.

She caught one with her sword, pulling the cultist close to her. Martin reached over her shoulder and placed a flaming hand on the masked head. A surge of energy released from him, blasting through the foe’s body. They let out a shriek that was cut off as Amira slashed her sword across their abdomen. It cut through the conjured armor and deep into their stomach. 

Amira pulled her sword back and put it up just as the second cultist brought theirs down. She stumbled, nearly knocking Martin over as she fell against him. He pushed her back, sending her towards the cultist. Tucking her head in and pushing off with her foot, she sent herself forward and head-butted the figured in the chest. They let out a cough, the wind knocked out of them. Before she had a chance to bring down her sword, her foe reached out and sent a bolt of lighting from their hand, catching Amira in the chest.

Involuntarily, she crumpled to her knees. Her nerve endings buzzed with pain, spots flashing across her vision. Struggling, she narrowly managed to dodge a blow from their short sword as it whizzed past her head. The cultist fell forward, their momentum carrying them forward after the missed strike. Amira rocketed her fist into their stomach, connecting a painful blow. They fell to the ground, doubled over. Martin flipped his dagger around and buried it deep into the back of the fallen foe. 

Amira hauled herself to her feet, gritting her teeth. Brother Piner had dispatched the Mythic Dawn he locked weapons with and now stood at Jauffre’s side. The two were fighting a cultist dual-wielding short swords. They seemed to be the most skilled of the felled opponents, managing to keep both Piner and Jauffre at arms length for the time. Grunting, Amira repositioned her sword so she held it tightly in both hands. 

“RRRRAGH!” She dashed forward and stabbed her katana through the Mythic Dawn assassin’s back, impaling them with a gush of blood. The katana wrung from her grip as the figure fell limply forward onto the chapel floor. 

“Thank Talos you’re back!” Jauffre panted. He was bleeding from a laceration on his arm, but seemed otherwise okay. 

“What happened here?” Amira asked. “How’d the Mythic Dawn find you?”

“I have no idea,” Jauffre shook his head. “I was praying in the chapel when I heard Prior Maborel shout, my his soul rest in peace. I just had time to arm myself.” 

He looked behind her and spotted Martin, a look of relief breaking out across his face.

“Oh, thank Talos she found you,” Jauffre walked over and put a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “You don’t know me, but I know you very well. I’ve watched over you since Uriel first delivered you to me as a baby! You’ve grown so much since then, though.”

“Thank you,” a blush tinged the edge of Martin’s cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. When I heard about Kvatch, I feared the worse, but seeing you here now gives me hope. We have you and the Am-” Jauffre cut himself off, his eyes going wide. “The Amulet of Kings! That must have been the target of this attack!”

He spun around to Brother Piner. “Go to my hidden room and check on the Amulet at once!”

Piner nodded and ran out the door. Jauffre began to pace nervously, wincing in pain at his injured arm.

“Would you like me to heal that for you?” Martin asked, stepping towards him.

Jauffre laughed and waved him away. “Of course not, sire. This is nothing I can’t handle.”

Martin stopped, surprised at how effortlessly the man referred to him as “sire.” Amira glanced over and noticed a look of anxiety flash across Martin’s face. 

Jauffre put a hand to where the wound was on his arm. Everything was still for a moment, but soon the hand began to glow. It illuminated the small corpse-filled chapel, glittering off the bloodied floor. When he removed his hand, the wound had completely healed. 

Brother Piner reentered the building, panting heavily. The three turned towards him.

“I’m sorry, Grandmaster,” he bowed deeply. “They took the Amulet.”

“Damn them,” Jauffre swore. “We’ve gained Uriel’s heir, yet they’ve taken the Amulet of Kings. That settles things then.”

He turned to Amira, his expression grave. “Martin cannot stay here, it’s too dangerous. We’ve driven them off for now, but once they learn of Martin’s survival they’ll return. There’s a hidden fortress of the Blades, Cloud Ruler Temple. Near Bruma. We must leave for it at once.”

“You’ll have me go along, then?” Amira asked.

“Of course,” Jauffre nodded. “I need Brother Piner to stay here and secure the Priory. I know you have no duty to us as a civilian, but will you accompany me?”

“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation. Martin looked at her, surprised. She was surprised by the confidence in her answer. But she was already in so deep, and her promise to Uriel hadn’t quite been fulfilled. She had found his son, yes, but he was by no means safe. No, she decided even before she arrived at the Priory to stick with this to its end. She stepped forward and pulled the katana out of the back of the slain adversary. There was a determination in the motion she used to sheathe it. She was ready for what’s next.

“Good. Let’s leave right away, then. We can each take a horse from the stable,” Jauffre moved towards the double doors of the church. He put a hand on Brother Piner’s shoulder, whispering a blessing of Talos as they parted. 

“You alright, Martin?” Amira asked as they followed Jauffre to the stable. He had been silent since addressing Jauffre, staring at the blood-soaked ground. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Just thinking.” 

—-

They made a small camp in the northern Great Forest just after nightfall. Jauffre noticed Amira and Martin falling behind a few hours into their trip, their eyelids growing heavy. It was he who suggested they rest for the evening, offering to take the first watch. Tying their horses to a nearby tree, Jauffre sat on a stump, looking out into the dark forest. He was a former Blade, of that Amira was certain, as his professionalism couldn’t be beat. He revealed himself not only to be a skilled fighter and healer, but proficient in illusion as well, casting a charm of night eye on himself. Looking out with his back to their campfire, nothing could hide from the old soldier’s eyes.

Amira and Martin lay in bedrolls adjacent from each other. They hadn’t spoken much since they left the Priory. What was there to say? Martin seemed engrossed in his own thoughts, too distracted to make conversation, and Amira felt too unsure of himself to ask what was wrong. She sat up in her bedroll, chin resting atop her knees. She felt strange. Part of the feeling, she knew, was an after-effect of the shock she received earlier in the chapel. Never properly discharging the electricity magicka meant her nerves were still buzzing, the muscles in her fingers twitching incessantly. 

She let out a sigh and decided to busy them by uncurling her braid, letting loose a mass of tight curly hair. It draped around her head and over her shoulders. The sky above them was dark, the twin moons of Secunda and Masser seemed far away, hidden by the canopy of leaves and branches. Something else gnawed at Amira, a voice that had been hissing into her ear since early that morning. It spoke of doubts, offering unwelcome criticism, knowing what to say to cut her deep. She was used to the voice but with all that she had done in the past few days it had become especially loud, finding new fodder for its attacks. She thought back to all the fights she had, picking apart her technique to the bare bone. If only she had been more vigilant there, or more assertive here, she wouldn’t have been knocked on her ass! 

Amira dug fingernails into her palms, trying to draw herself out of her head and back into the present. When she was in prison, the voice had finally quieted.  _ To rot in this hole is what you deserve _ , was the last thing it said. But now it had started up again. She put her chin to her chest and rested her forehead on her knees. It was going to be a long night.

“Aren’t you tired?” 

Amira looked up. Martin sat up, looking over at her from the fire. The light danced across his tanned face, reflecting off pale blue eyes. They seemed much more intense in the low light. Like they were looking right through her. She looked away from them to the flames. 

“Can’t sleep,” she raised a shaking hand. “Got too much electricity running through me.”

Martin looked at her, studying her face. Her eyebrows were drawn together, furrowed slightly. It was clear she was exhausted. He went over and crouched next to her. 

“I can try to help, if you want,” he offered, a small smile on his lips. “It’s the least I could do to the person who defended me.” 

Amira chuckled. “You can clearly take care of yourself. I saw the way you cooked those rat-droppings earlier. You didn’t need me.”

He shook his head. “I’ll admit, I’m good with my magicka, but I’m useless in close combat. You’re incredible with that sword of yours. You cut through all those strange men in Hackdirt! Without your help Dar-Ma and I wouldn’t have had a chance.”

“Nah,” she looked at the ground. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I’m serious! I heard from the others in Kvatch you closed that Oblivion gate yourself, too. They were calling you the ‘Hero of Kvatch.’”

“What!” Amira looked up at him in surprise, a red flush filling her cheeks. “Oh, now that’s absurd! I’m no hero!”

“I don’t know, you sure looked like one to me.”

“Stop,” she groaned and gave him a light shove. 

He laughed. For someone so skilled with a sword, she was more humble than he anticipated.  He looked at her. She also had more hair than he realized. It was big and curly, reaching out in all directions, like a cloud. 

“What are you staring at?” she frowned at him. He hadn’t realized he was staring.

“Sorry, I’m just tired,” he said. “So, would you like help or no?”

“Normally, I’d refuse to save my pride. After all you’ve already healed me once,” she tapped her knee, thinking. “But, honestly, I need to sleep.”

“May I?” he asked, reaching towards her.

She nodded, sitting up cross-legged to face him. He cupped her face and closed his eyes. A quiet prayer crossed his lips, one of healing he recited many times before and was now ingrained into memory. Once again, he realized how soft her skin was against his calloused hands. It wasn’t smooth in the same way a young persons was, but it was soft in the way that a flower that spent its life facing the sun always was. Touched by wind and rain, but somehow the coming out worn in a way that was so pleasant to feel. 

The warmth of restoration magicka spread from his palms out across her face, down her neck, and to her chest. She felt it burn within her heart, spreading through her veins. It chased out the cool, buzzing sensation of electricity that had plagued her all evening, replacing it with a calm relief. Her muscles stopped twitching and her body, now quiet, was filled with a heavy, sleepy feeling. She let out a sigh, relieved. 

When he opened his eyes after healing Amira in Kvatch she regarded him with suspicion and surprise, somehow flustered by the gesture. Now she smiled up at him with tired eyes. He couldn’t help himself from smiling back.

“Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate that.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

He stood up and moved back to his bedroll, a warm feeling still tingling on his palms. It was funny, but he felt somehow quieted too.

“You know, Amira,” he said, settling back into his resting place. “I know we didn’t get along well when we first met in Kvatch, but I’m glad you’re with me.”

She looked surprised and a knot twisted in his stomach. He realized, immediately, how it might have been taken the wrong way. Too friendly! She obviously had been frustrated with him the past three days, and now he was putting forward such an honest statement. What was he thinking, saying that? 

But to Martin’s relief, Amira’s face softened into a wide smile.

“Yeah, me too,” she laughed lightly. “Goodnight, Martin.”

“Goodnight, Amira.”

He laid down and looked towards the starry sky. A smile was still on both their faces as they drifted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two notes:  
> 1) I want to thank Tyranidlord for noticing spelling errors in previous chapters! The word processor I use doesn't have the greatest spell check. If anyone notices more please let me know & I'll make corrections ASAP!. I appreciate all comments & corrections!  
> 2) Updates are going to slow down soon. I have two chapters fully finished after this, but I'll be graduating college soon and should prooooobably focus more on my senior thesis than fanfiction writing :) Don't worry, though. Writing this fanfiction has been fantastic stress relief, and I've been so eager to finally share a story I've been thinking up for nearly 6 years that I fully intend to finish the story! Strap in, though. It's gonna be a looooong ride. 
> 
> And, of course, thank you all for reading this far c: I didn't think anyone would pay this fic any mind, so hearing that people are reading is SO EXCITING! Thank you so much for your support!


	11. Bruma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, the trio arrives at Cloud Ruler Temple and Martin is finally safe. Finished with her mission, Amira must finally face the thing she's dreading: saying goodbye.

Amira awoke just before dawn. Masser, the larger of the two moons, shone a rosy red in the pale-grey sky. Everything began to lighten, washing out the color of the late-Second Seed flora that had sprung up from early rains. The fire had turned to ash, only a few embers struggled to remain on the blackened charcoal. She sat up in her bedroll, stretched and shivered. Though Cyrodiil was in central Tamriel and most of the region was relatively warm, the northern part of the province was cold-year round, sharing its border with the icy province of  Skyrim. 

Martin and Jauffre had awakened before her, busy dismantling the campsite and preparing their horses. Amira quickly tied up her hair and strapped on her armor. 

“The Kvatch armor suits you, Amira,” Jauffre came over and offered her half a loaf of bread and some cured meat. “You look like a bonafide hero.” 

“Oh, I don’t think I’d go as far as to say that,” she laughed awkwardly and accepted the food. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. 

“Excuse us for not waking you, by the way. Martin explained to me all that you two went through and we figured it was best to let you rest a while longer.”

“Thank you for that,” Amira smiled. “ I appreciate it.”

She noticed a glint in Jauffre’s eyes as the light caught it. His pupils seemed to glow an iridescent blue. Amira must have looked surprised, as Jauffre let out a chuckle.

“Residual effects of my night eye, nothing to be afraid of,” he explained, tapping his temple. “Sometimes it gives off a shine, almost like that of a cat!”

“Ah, I see,” Amira nodded. “You stayed up all night? Aren’t you exhausted?”

“A bit tired, but nothing I can’t handle. Besides, we should arrive in Bruma in a couple hours. We’ll have plenty of time to rest once we reach Cloud Ruler Temple. We’ll leave once you’re ready.”

“Right,” Amira took a bite from the bread. When Jauffre left to finish packing the camp, Amira let out a small sigh. It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment, but she was anxious about arriving at the so-called hidden fortress of the Blades. There, she figured, is where her role would end. Martin would be safe, protected by an army of skilled warriors, he would be crowned Emperor and that would be that. She would say goodbye to them and… then what?

A knot formed in Amira’s stomach. What was she going to do after her job was done? She had no place to go. Everyone she knew from Hammerfell had either died or forgotten about her long ago. She had no connections in Cyrodiil, save for a few old fencing connections. Which brought up another issue she had been trying to ignore, her legal status.  _ Technically _ , assisting former Emperor Uriel could be seen as a pardon. But how would the Imperial Guards know that? Were they looking for her? To be honest, she wasn’t feeling very keen on going back to the Imperial Prison. But where else was she to go? Suddenly, she didn’t feel very hungry anymore. She tossed the half-eaten piece of salted meet to the side. It accidentally hit Martin in the leg.

“Oh, sorry about that!” she apologized. “I didn’t see you come over.”

“Not a problem,” he waved a hand. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing this morning.”

“I’m fine.”

“Not hungry?”

“Well,” she shrugged and looked away from him. “Not as much as I thought.”

Martin studied her, silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, he dropped his voice. “Are you worried about going to the Temple too?” 

She nodded, hesitantly. 

He let out a sigh. “I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

“You’re nervous?” she raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d be looking forward to going somewhere safe.” 

“I am, believe me. It’s all just a bit overwhelming. Since you found me, everyone speaks to me as though I’m some sort of royalty!”

“Well, you are,” Amira let out a quiet chuckle.

“I know but… I don’t feel like I am. Look at me, I’m a priest!” he frowned. “I’m just afraid I’ll let everyone down.”

Amira looked at him. He was looking off towards the ground, his eyebrows knit in serious thought.  _ Ah _ , she thought to herself.  _ This is what’s been eating away at him _ . 

She walked up to Martin and put a hand on his shoulder, breaking his concentration. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I never once thought of you as royalty,” she grinned. “In fact, when we first met, I thought you were an absolute bonehead!”

He looked at her, surprised. For a moment she panicked,  _ Maybe that was a bit too far! _ But he began to laugh a moment later, a hearty, genuine sound that brought out smile lines on his face. 

“To be fair, I thought the same of you!” he wiped away a tear from his eye. “You are terribly stubborn!”

“Thank you for noticing,” she bowed mockingly. He laughed again, making Amira smile wide. It felt nice to laugh. Things had been so dire the past four days that brief moment of teasing was a welcome respite. 

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” Jauffre appeared behind Amira. 

“Only a little,” she replied. 

“There’ll be plenty of time for that when we arrive at our destination,” he motioned to the prepped horses. “We should get moving.”

Amira and Martin nodded and moved to their mounts. She hoisted herself upon the horse, giving its neck a gentle pat. Martin rode ahead, his back to her. He really didn’t look like royalty. His hands were calloused, his hair was long and often a tangle of bed-head. His speech wasn’t as rough as hers, but he didn’t carry himself with elegance or confidence. He looked like the priest he was. Humble. 

Yet, whenever he looked at her, Amira could see Uriel’s eyes reflecting back at her. Did that mean he would make a good emperor? No, she didn’t think so. But as she studied his back, sitting straight upon the horse as they trotted into the brush on the cold morning, she could imagine him riding through the Imperial City’s white cobblestone roadways dressed in fine robes. Maybe, just maybe, they could make a king out of this son of a farmer yet. 

——

Bruma was set on the southern edge of the Jerall Mountains, a range that formed the northern border of Cyrodiil with Skyrim. It had a large Nordic population and, as a result, its architecture resembled the great stone-and-wood cities of the northern province. Amira took a deep breath, the cold air filling her lungs. Snow began to fall as the trio approached the city’s gates. Flakes fell upon Amira’s cheeks, melting upon touch. A pang of wistfulness washed over her. She never cared for snow before, preferring the warmth from the deserts of her youth, but she didn’t realize how much she missed the sensation until now. She hadn’t been in prison for long, but it had been years since she last was in an area with snow! The coldness chilled her, yes, but it also made her feel a little more awake. A little more alive. She wished she appreciated the sensation more in the past. 

The large wooden gates of Bruma were intricately carved with images of men fighting dragons; a traditional Nordic motif. Two guards were stationed at the gate, their armor similar in design to the guards of Kvatch, though they sported a black-and-gold eagle with its wings outstretched on their chests. They straightened up at the sight of Jauffre, offering him a quick salute. Quickly, they opened the gate to allow passage into the snowy city. They regarded Martin and Amira with curiosity. One guard noticed her katana and scrambled to offer her the same salute he gave Jauffre. She returned with a half-nod and an awkward smile. For some reason, she felt uncomfortable from the interaction. 

Like every large city in Cyrodiil, a temple was located at its center. Bruma’s was dedicated to the Ninth Divine, the hero-god Talos. A statue of Talos sat outside of the chapel, represented as a regal-looking man posing proudly with a sword. Martin stopped by the statue and gazed up at it in wonder.

“Is this your first time in Bruma?” Amira asked, pulling up alongside him. 

“No, I’ve been here many times,” Martin replied. “Ministers of the Divines are required to visit the major temples regularly, even if we’re not ordained to their specific patron. How much do you know about the Divines, Amira?”

“Probably not as much as you. At least, I hope you know more than me.”

“Very funny,” he chuckled. 

“I try,” she smirked. “But why do you ask?”

“Do you know Talos’s name before he became a god?”

“I can’t say I recall.”

“Tiber Septim,” he looked up at the statue’s stony face. “He founded the Third Empire. Ancestor to all the Emperors.”

“So he’s your ancestor too,” she glanced at Martin’s face, his expression unreadable. “That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “It’s funny, I’ve passed this statue dozens of times. Things feel different now.” 

“Well of course! Before he was just a statue. Now he’s your great-great-great-great-great-grandfather.”

“Technically, he’d be a great-great-great-etcetera-great uncle. Talos’s only son died before he could produce an heir.”

“You really do know more than me,” she said. Martin smiled but didn’t laugh. He seemed tense.

“I must say if you are his descendent, you’re much more handsome than he is,” Amira tried to joke. Martin looked at her, surprised.  _ Wait, shit, that’s not what I meant! _ She realized, silently praying her cheeks weren’t red. 

“You know, because he’s made of stone and all!” she quickly scrambled.  _ Nice save! _

“Oh!” he blinked. “Yes, haha true! At least I’m not stone!” 

“Yes!” Amira forced a smile. “Uh, we should probably get going!”

“Right, lets,” Martin replied briskly, urging his horse ahead to catch up with Jauffre. 

Amira silently cursed herself.  _ Shit! Idiot! Absolute dumbass! What in the Gods’ names was that comment! This is why you never try to help people,  _ she gripped her reigns tightly, falling in step behind the other two. Making Martin laugh earlier that morning had made her feel, well, good about herself. Though she had been doing okay as a physical guard, distracting the priest from the worry that had been etched on his face since the moment she revealed his true heritage made her feel a little proud. 

_ How selfish of you _ , she berated herself.  _ Next time, just do what you’re told! _ Amira shook her head. There would be plenty of time to antagonize over mistakes once she arrived at the Temple, or after that once she was doing… Whatever it is she would do after parting ways. Whenever Amira was forced to make a decision she dread, she would push it to the last possible second. Thinking about dreadful things made her queasy. She started feeling nauseous again. 

“Cloud Ruler Temple is up the path just north of Bruma,” Amira heard Jauffre explain. The older man was riding alongside Martin, preparing him for their arrival. Jauffre seemed to relax after entering Bruma. Scanning the streets, Amira noticed only a few residents seemed to pay them any notice. Most were children, clinging to their parent’s leg and gazing up at Amira and Jauffre’s glittering katanas in awe. The occasional adult would look up and nod to them, respectfully, but besides those small, subdued acknowledgements, nobody acted as though they were out of place.

This struck Amira as strange. A group of armed individuals who were clearly neither guards nor wealthy riding through town on horseback was a sight that would draw stares and whispers in  any other city. Yet, the citizens of Bruma acted as though this was nothing unusual. Their non-reaction puzzled Amira until she caught the eye of one of the young children rushing by. The little Nordic girl looked up at her with wide-eyed wonder and flashed her a hasty salute like the one done by the gate guards. 

Suddenly, Amira understood. She gave the girl a smile and returned the gesture. A wide grin spread across the child’s face, a warmth filled Amira’s chest. How didn’t she see it sooner? This city stood in the shadow of the Blade’s ancient fortress. Of course they would be used to the mysterious group’s presence. 

Jauffre continued to speak fervently with Martin, giving him a rushed history of the Blades and their duty to the Emperor. The younger man tried his best to keep up, nodding and agreeing where appropriate. Though he understood Jauffre wanted to wait until they were in a safe place to explain everything to Martin, he silently wished the Grandmaster would take a breath and stop talking. He felt like he was being drowned by all the information. 

Martin glanced over his shoulder to Amira. If he was lucky, he would try to catch her eye and try to signal her for help. Unfortunately, Stendarr ignored his plea. The Redguard woman was staring off into the crowd, a faint smile on her face. It was nicer than the awkward one she forced earlier, he thought.

“So you’re ready, then?” Jauffre asked.

“Hm?” Martin’s attention snapped back to the conversation. “Oh! Yes. As ready as I can be, given the situation.”

“Don’t worry too much about today, Sire,” Jauffre offered a sympathetic smile. “Your Blades understand how traumatic the past few days have been. All of us have had a difficult time. Trust me when I say the very sight of you will be enough to lift their spirits.”

“I appreciate your confidence, Jauffre.”

“Of course. This isn’t the first time I’ve had the honor of escorting a new heir! Why, I remember when your father addressed us after he was crowned…”

_ My father… _ Martin’s thoughts drifted away. It was a strange feeling to hear that phrase and suddenly have the person he thought of not be the man who raised him, but a faceless royal he never met. He looked up at the grey, snowy sky and wondered if he’d ever adjust to the change. 

———

The winding road leading north of Bruma brought Jauffre, Amira and Martin to a structure set just out of sight within the snowy mountains, protected by tall, imposing stone walls. A heavily fortified metal gate closed the fortress off from the three. At the top of the gated entrance sat two guard posts, the roofs to which were covered in dull russet tile and sloped in a strange way Amira had never seen before. It was distinct from both the traditional, extravagant Imperial style seen throughout Cyrodiil and the hearty wooden Nordic structures seen in Bruma. 

“Who approaches?” someone called from the towers.

“Your Grandmaster!” Jauffre called back. “I arrive with his Highness, Martin Septim, and an ally to our cause!”

“By the Nine!” the voice gasped. “Jena, quickly, open the gate at once! Ferrum, alert the Blades our Emperor has arrived!”

The metal doors swung aside, revealing a long staircase leading up into the fortress. At its base stood a young Imperial woman with light skin, dressed in the full Blades armor like Baurus just a few days prior. The woman seemed flustered, staring at Jauffre and then Martin with wide eyes. She took a deep breath and straightened her posture, pulling herself back together. 

“M’Lord! Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple!” she yelled with an emphatic salute. 

“Thank you for having me,” Martin replied. He had been taken aback by her energetic salutation but hid it well. 

“Jena, take our horses to the stable then meet us in the courtyard,” Jauffre ordered. “We have much to discuss.”

“Yes, Grandmaster!” Jena bowed to Jauffre, then Martin, and began to bow to Amira before catching herself. The young woman looked at Amira with confusion. Amira gave her a small wave. 

“Take Miss Halgal’s steed as well. She’s an honored guest here.” 

“Oh!” Jena straightened up. “My apologies, Grandmaster! My apologies, uh, Miss Halgal!” 

The three dismounted their horses, home Jena quickly gathered and lead away. Jauffre motioned from Martin to the stairs.

“After you, Sire.”

Martin nodded, a knot twisting in his stomach. Cloud Ruler Temple had been hidden from sight, its tall walls and guard towers the only structure visible from the outside. As they marched up the stairs, the true splendor of Cloud Ruler Temple revealed itself to the uninitiated. 

The fortress was set up as a compound, with a grand main hall flanked by two smaller structures surrounding a stone courtyard. The buildings sported the same curved-edge roofs of the guard towers. Amira noticed the had no traditional glass windows, instead wooden-slit windows were built into the sides of the building. They allowed for light without sacrificing privacy. It was an extremely unusual design to see in Cyrodiil. At the top of the main hall was a stained-glass window adorned with an orange-and-red dragon, the symbol of the Empire. Green rays of glass splayed out behind the dragon, forming a diamond shape in the white stone walls. The afternoon sun managed to break through the snowy clouds, a beam of light shone directly on the dragon, lighting it up with brilliant colors. 

At the left and right edges of the courtyard was a stable stocked with a number of horses and a squared patch of sand used for sparring. Two people dressed in Blades armor who had squared off against each other stopped and stared as Martin ascended the steps. More armored Blades poured out of the main hall into the courtyard, forming two parallel lines alongside the pathway. Their eyes were all trained on Martin, looking at him with a fierce intensity. He hoped the anxiety he felt gnawing away in his stomach was hidden from them. 

Martin and Amira followed Jauffre to the end of the path, just in front of the stairs leading to the grand hall. Jauffre stepped forward. 

“Blades!” he called out in a commanding voice. “Dark times are upon us. The Emperor and his sons were slain on our watch. The Empire is in chaos. But there is yet hope.”

Jauffre motioned to Martin. He glanced at Amira, a frown twitching at the edge of his lips.  _ I’m just afraid I’ll let everyone down _ , Martin’s voice echoed in her mind. 

Amira met his pale-blue eyes, offering him a smile and a confident nod.  _ You won’t, Martin _ . Though he couldn’t hear her thoughts, she hoped he could feel her belief in him.

Martin returned her nod and stepped forward. 

“Here is Martin Septim,” Jauffre announced. “True son of Uriel Septim!"

The Blades unsheathed their long katanas and lifted them high above their heads.

“Hail, Dragonborn! Hail, Martin Septim!” they called out in unison. “Hail!”

"Your Highness, the Blades are at your command,” Jauffre smiled to a surprised-looking Martin. The would-be emperor looked out at the Blades, who stared back at him with looks of determination, pride and hope in their eyes. 

_ They really believe I can be Emperor, _ he realized.  _ These people believe in me _ .

“Jauffre, all of you,” Martin began. “I know you expect me to be Emperor, and I will do my best to serve you. All of this is new to me, including giving speeches, so I ask you to have patience with me. But I want you to know I appreciate your welcome. I hope I prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the coming days. Thank you.”

The Blades erupted into cheers yet again, beaming up at him. Jauffre held up a hand, quieting the small crowd. Though they were silent, excitement still rippled through them.

“Thank you, Sire. We will keep you safe until you can take up your throne,” he bowed to Martin before turning to an Imperial man towards the front of the line. “Now, we best get back to our duties, eh Captain Steffan?”

The Imperial nodded and turned towards the rest of the Blades. “You heard the Grandmaster! Return to your stations!” 

“Aye, Captain!” they saluted and dispersed. Martin let out a sigh of relief, grateful things had gone much better than expected. As the Blades passed, some stopped to salute him, others offering a quick “Hail, Dragonborn!” to him. All Martin could muster in response was a meek nod or thank you. He was flustered, not used to all the attention.

“Wonderful job, Brother Martin,” Amira sidled up and nudged him with her elbow. He grinned to her.

“I don’t think that was much of a speech,” he chuckled. “But at least it didn’t seem to bother them.”

“I think they’re just glad to have someone to serve again,” she replied. “You probably figured it out by their grand welcome, but when I was traveling with the late Emperor through the Imperial Prison his Blades seemed ready to throw their life down for him at a moment’s notice. They’re devoted, to say the least.”

“Yes, I can see that,” he fell quiet, looking out across the courtyard. Suddenly, he frowned and turned back to her. “Amira, there’s something that’s been on my mind for a while I’d like to ask you.”

“Oh?” she was surprised. “What is it?” For some reason, she felt her cheeks flush.

“You’re not part of the Blades, are you?”

A pit formed in her stomach. “No, I’m not.” 

“But you’re working with them. You have a sword like theirs.”

“That’s correct.”

“Forgive me if this seems harsh, I assure you that’s not my intention,” Martin stepped closer to her, his voice falling. “Who are you?” 

Her warm brown eyes stared intently into his. The creases on her forehead deepened, drawing tightly etched worry lines out of her face.  _ What will he think if I tell him the truth? _ She wondered.  _ That I’m just some lowlife who got lucky? He’s a priest, a man of virtue. The Blades are honorable, they all serve the Emperor. I’m nothing compared to them _ . 

She looked away from him, biting her cheek. There was no way she could lie to him either, Amira realized. If she lied and he found out about her later on, that would just solidify her character as a sneaking thief. She felt trapped. 

“Amira?” he asked. His voice was soft. She looked back to him and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could she was interrupted by a hand clamping down on her shoulder.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation, M’Lord.” 

Amira spun around to face a handsome, and familiar, Redguard. 

“Baurus!” Amira gave him a wide grin. “You made it out of the sewers!”

“So did you!” Baurus laughed. “And you found the heir!”

“Well, he didn’t make it easy, that’s for sure!” she glanced back at the surprised Martin and gave him a wink. He blinked at her. 

“Excuse my rudeness, Sire. Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple,” Baurus bowed to Martin. “We haven’t the honor of an Emperor’s visit in many years. You’re a ray of light in these dark times.”

“Thank you, Baurus,” a blush tinged at the edges of Martin’s cheeks, much to Amira’s silent amusement. “The honor’s all mine.” 

Baurus chuckled and turned his attention back to Amira. “Do you think we could talk in private for a moment?” though he still seemed lighthearted, there was a quiet edge to his voice of something strained. 

“Of course,” she replied. “Can I speak with Mart- ah, the Emperor for just a moment?”

Baurus nodded and stepped away, going over to Jauffre who was speaking with the one identified as Captain Steffan. Amira moved closer to Martin, not meeting his eyes. 

“I haven’t the time to explain everything to you now,” she spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. “But I’m not a Blade. I’m not a knight. Some people probably wouldn’t even consider me to be a good person! In honesty, if I had to describe myself I’d say I’m a nobody. I’ve never been important for any moment of my life.”

Amira turned to him, her face serious. “Be it by the Divine’s plan or some cruel joke of fate, I was lucky enough to meet your father, Uriel Septim, in the final moments before his death. He asked a favor of me, and I felt compelled to carry out the final wish of a dying man. I stood by people like Baurus and Savlian Matius, who fight to protect others, who have something to believe in. Somehow I made it through an Oblivion Gate and back alive. And I was lucky enough to find you. The last few days have been the most terrifying, confusing and exciting of my life. But I don’t belong here. What I am is, truly, a nobody. And its time I returned to that.”

Martin stared at her, silent for a long time. She matched his gaze, determined not to back down though the nausea returned in her stomach. Her hands were balled in fists, not as a display of confidence, but to keep them from shaking and betraying the anxiety creeping up her spine. He was about the same age as her. As she stared into his eyes, searching across his face, she could see years of his life hidden in the creases upon his face. They drew a furrowed brow as he thought.

“I don’t believe that,” he finally replied.

Amira frowned. “You asked me who I was, and I gave it to you! Whether you like it or no-”

“No,” Martin shook his head. “I mean, I don’t believe that you’re not a good person.” 

She tilted her head questioningly.

“We’ve been with each other for about three days now, yes? I saw you fight to free Castle Kvatch and to save Dar-Ma. I heard people talk about how you dove headfirst into Oblivion, calling you the Hero of Kvatch.”

“I only did those things to find you,” she insisted. “You said you wouldn’t come with me if I didn’t!”

“I don’t believe that either,” he gave her a soft smile. “You’re much more steadfast than I am. If you wanted me to follow you while doing the bare minimum, you would’ve convinced me to follow. You’re a good person, Amira. You just needed some motivation.”  

Amira stared at him, speechless. Nobody ever said something like that to her before. Believed in her, in her goodness, before. Though her eyes were wide and lips pursued into a tight line, her cheeks burned bright red. Her heart beat loudly in her chest.

Martin’s smile faded into a frown, finally breaking her stare. “You think you must leave, though?”

“Yes,” she cleared her throat, attempting to regain composure. “I told you, I’m not a Blade. I shouldn’t be here. I need to start thinking about what I’ll do next.”

“What will you do next?”

She frowned. “I’m not sure.”

The two stood in silence, Martin looking off into the distance, well aware of the woman’s eyes burning into him. Her eyes were a warm brown, they could switch effortlessly from a harsh glare shot at him in the Temple of Akatosh after he refused to follow her, to a soft tenderness as she gazed across a campfire. Something inside him wanted to badly to turn to her, but he didn’t want to seem overly earnest, too eager for her stay. 

“I think I’ll stay in Bruma for a couple days,” Amira finally broke their silence. “I’ll try to come say goodbye to everyone before I leave.”

Martin turned to her, glancing quickly into eyes. They had softened. “Thank you.”

Amira said nothing and walked over to where Baurus stood talking. Martin watched after her, standing alone in front of Cloud Ruler Temple’s great hall. 

 

———

“Sorry for the delay,” Amira apologized as she approached. 

“Don’t worry,” Baurus smiled. “Amira, I’d like to introduce you to the commander of Cloud Ruler Temple, Captain Steffan.”

“Amira Halgal, correct? It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Steffan extended a hand to Amira. The Imperial man looked to be in his mid-40s, his squared jaw and thick eyebrows giving him a permanently serious expression. 

“The pleasure is mine, Captain,” Amira shook his hand. “Thank you for having me.”

“Grandmaster Jauffre and Baurus tell me you were with the late Emperor Uriel Septim when he was ambushed by the Mythic Dawn?” Steffan asked.

“Yes. The Emperor, and his Blades, fought valiantly.”

“That’s Captain Renault’s katana you’re carrying, yes?” 

Amira untied the sword from her waist and presented it to him. He took it and handed it to Baurus with a nod. 

“Thank you for taking care of it. We’ll see it is given a place of honor in the hall of the Blades.”

“I’m glad I could,” Amira felt a pang of sadness. She had no right to the sword, she knew, but she had wield the katana so boldly the past few days it felt strange to be separated from it. Another reminder that her time there was coming to an end. 

“Miss Halgal,” Jauffre stepped close to her, taking her hand. “You have fought valiantly and selflessly in the wake of this unspeakably tragic event. You tried to protect Emperor Uriel, though it was not your duty. You followed his dying wish when you could have instead run free. Further still, you saved the people of Kvatch by closing the wretched Gate and retrieved the Emperor’s lost son, protecting him until he could be brought here safe. You fought not for yourself, but to protect the Emperors and all they stand for.”

“You fought like a Blade, Amira,” Baurus added with a grin. 

“For your efforts,” Jauffre continued. “I, as Grandmaster of the Blades, would like to offer you a position within our order.”

Amira blinked, eyes wide with surprise. Slowly, she came to realize what Jauffre asked. 

“Me? A Blade?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes!” the older Breton laughed at her shock. 

“I’d love to!" Amira smiled wide, unable to hide her excitement. It took all her might not to jump up in glee. She hadn’t even realized she wanted to be a Blade, but now that Jauffre offered she realized how badly she wished to be a part of their order. Throughout her life she had drifted from job to job, finding camaraderie only among those on the same payroll as she. The Blades, though, seemed to bond over a common, noble cause. 

While she was never one particularly inclined to nobility and honor, she felt drawn to their situation. In a way, she felt her agreement with Uriel hadn’t quite been fulfilled. Martin was safe, but their problems seemed to have just begun. In that moment, Amira realized she made an unconscious promise. She wanted to see this through to the end. 

“Fantastic!” Jauffre squeezed her hand tightly then let it fall. 

“You will make a fantastic addition to our ranks, Amira,” Captain Steffan said, a smile cracking through his serious visage.

“Come on, initiate Halgal,” Baurus slid next to her, patting her shoulder. “Let me take you to the armory. We can find you a katana of your own!”

As Baurus lead her away, Amira felt something bloom in her chest. It was the similar to how she felt when she and Martin first left Kvatch. A sense of purpose. 


	12. By the Firelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet moment between Amira and Martin

It was late when Baurus’ tour of Cloud Ruler Temple concluded. The last of the grey-daylight faded away, revealing a deep navy sky filled with billions of stars. Lights from Bruma burned softly in the valley below the Temple, an orange glow cradled in the inky darkness. Amira stood outside the great hall, a brand-new katana shining on her hip.  _ Her _ katana. The thought stirred up excitement in her, a smile slipping on her lips. Before she joined her new comrades in the sleeping quarters, she wanted to make one last trip to the great hall. Baurus had hung up Captain Renault’s katana and she wanted to see it. 

_ She would have liked you, if she got to know you _ , Baurus had insisted. Amira wasn’t so sure, but she felt compelled to pay respects regardless. 

The hall was large, a high ceiling supported by great wooden arches. Along the arches hung dozens of katanas, some old and rusted, others worn from use but not time. Warmth from the massive fireplace wrapped Amira in a blanket of comfort as she stepped in from the cold mountain air. To her surprise, she wasn’t alone in the great hall. Martin sat alone in front of the fire, quietly reading a book by its light. 

“Hello, Emperor Martin,” Amira approached him from behind. “I figured you’d have turned in by now.”

“Oh, please don’t call me that, Amira,” Martin replied. Though he sounded annoyed at her greeting, he smiled at her. “I told you, just Martin.”

“I know, I couldn’t help it. I feel compelled to address you more formally for some reason…” she grinned.

“Jauffre told me the good news. Congratulations on joining the Blades!”

“Thank you, Sire.”

He flinched at the honorific. Amira tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her chuckle. 

“Okay, I’ll stop!” she laughed.

“You better! I don’t think I’ll be able to stop the rest of the Blades, but I know I can stop you.”

Amira winked at him and sat down on the stone mantel, the fire warming her back. “Why are you up late anyway, Martin?” 

“I feel too overwhelmed to sleep. My hope was reading would calm my nerves, but no such luck so far. What about you?”

“I wanted to see Captain Renault’s katana. She died protecting Uriel, I met her just after I… ah…” Amira trailed off. Martin stayed silent, waiting on her to continue. 

“I met her after Uriel freed me from prison,” Amira swallowed hard. 

“I see,” Martin paused. “If… If you don’t mind me asking, why were you in prison?” 

“About six years ago I stole a, uh, handful of expensive items from some families in the Imperial City,” Amira pinched the bridge of her nose. “There was an outstanding warrant for my arrest. A little over a month ago, I decided it was time to turn myself in.”

“Wait,” he looked at her quizzically. “You turned yourself in?”

“Yeah,” Amira pinched tighter. “I thought I wanted to go to jail.” 

“Why would you ever want to do that?”

“My reasons are… complicated,” she dropped her hand, letting it hang by her side. Martin looked at her, her face darkened against the fiery backlight. He couldn’t read her expression.

He let out a quiet sigh and closed his book. He was curious, he wanted to push her more and ask her  _ why _ ? Why did the Emperor help her? Why were there complicated reasons for wanting to go to jail? Why was she there, now, sitting with him in this old Akaviri fortress? He told the truth when he said he thought she was a good person, he would stand by that until she proved otherwise, yet that didn’t stop him from wanting to know more about her. 

Martin had made his own series of awful mistakes and less-than-virtuous decisions throughout his life, some filled him with regret, others he was more-or-less okay with. He turned to priesthood later in life, attracted to its structure and spirituality. During the Siege of Kvatch, he stayed behind to help because those were people he loved and cared about, because it was his duty as a priest. Each decision he made he felt had undeniable reason and weight behind them. So he had been having a hard time wrapping his head around why she, a self-proclaimed nobody and apparently a thief, would dive headfirst into danger because of a “promise.” 

It was getting late. Exhaustion had creeped up behind while they were talking and suddenly all he wanted to do was sleep. Amira looked up as he stood. Her eyebrows were furrowed, painting a worried expression across her face. Martin offered her a tired smile.

“Amira, I’m truly glad you’ll be able to stay,” he said, his voice soft. 

She stared at him for a long moment. Though the fireplace was large, it had been dying out slowly while they talked, and could not longer light up all of the great hall. Amira knew there were Blades posted at-attention just outside of where she could see, poised and ready to protect the Emperor at a moment’s notice. But in the waning firelight that bathed them both in a soft orange glow, she felt as though they were the only two people in all of Cyrodiil. 

Amira smiled back at him. “Me too.” 

To herself, she thought,  _ I never wanted to go _ . 

Martin turned to leave, tucking his book under his arm. “Goodnight, Amira.” 

“Goodnight, Martin.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So starts a bit of a break! I'll be back once I, you know, finish my thesis. But don't worry, I've got lots of exciting ideas I can't wait to write!


	13. New Motivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Amira transitions to her new life as Blade, self-doubt begins to creep into her mind - along with a new source of motivation

Amira opened her eyes to darkness, a vast starless sky. Everything felt heavy, from her arms, to her head, to her breath. A weight sat atop her chest, heavier than the rest of her. It pinned her back against something wet and cold, unable to sit up and confront what lay on her. Her eyes strained, peering down across her cheeks, down her nose into the gloom. What gazed back at her was the remains of a bloated, rotting corpse.   
The breath she instinctively tried to suck in caught in her throat, her lungs burning for air. As her eyes adjusted around her, Amira realized she wasn’t just surrounded by rot - she was underneath it. The smell of decay, too familiar, wrapped her in an oppressive fog. Her heart was beating so fast now, the only sound to pierce the silence filling her with further dread.   
Get out of here, a voice ordered in her head. Amira, you have to get out of here!  
“I-I can’t! I’m stuck!” Amira whispered, the stench stinging her eyes.   
You have to get out of here! It grew louder now. Amira! You have to get out of here!   
“I told you!” she growled, suddenly filled with anger. “I can’t!”   
Amira squeezed her eyes shut and lashed out in front of her, right arm suddenly free from its shackles. Instead of meeting the squishy, melting bodies she expected, she felt nothing. When she opened her eyes, it was just her, standing in darkness. The gore had disappeared, save for a single limb outstretched in front of her, with flayed flesh falling off its pearly white bones and newly hatched maggots burrowing through the rot.   
It took her a moment to realize it was her own arm.  
“……………….. Huh?” Amira said.  
As soon as the breath left her mouth, Amira watched helplessly as the necrotic arm simply fell off from her body with an echoing SCHLOCK. A sinking feeling bubbled up from her stomach, burning the back of her throat. She doubled over to catch herself from getting sick, only to tumble forward and fall down, down, down. As she plummeted through the darkness, she was so scared. She wanted to scream, she wanted to run, but all she could do was fall down, to the eventual bottom to finally die, just as she had wanted.   
—

THUMP!  
Amira found herself face-down on the floor of the bunk room. Pain pulsated across her face, she pushed herself up onto her knees only to find droplets of blood dripping down her mouth onto the floor. Gingerly she touched her nose. It was hot, sore and swelling up fast. She let out an exasperated groan.  
“Gods, you alright there?” a Blade in the bunk below asked, exhaustion giving an edge to their voice.  
“Beth,” Amira replied, her nose pinched tightly. “I’m fineh.”   
“If you say so,” they rolled over. “Just try not to wake everyone up next time.”  
She mumbled “thorry,” quietly cursing herself. Even if she couldn’t control falling out of bed in a nightmare-induced fit, that didn’t stop her from feeling guilty… or embarrassed. Every night, it seemed, she went back to her new bunk only to lie awake for hours staring into the darkness.   
I thought we were over this! She had rubbed tired eyes. Their arrival to Cloud Ruler Temple had been the first break in a tension that lasted since she left the prison weeks before. Despite her exhaustion, her mind immediately took hold of the quiet to inundate her with self-doubt. Late into the night she spent picking apart her actions. She thought back to Hackdirt, how she let her guard down and nearly managed to get the sole heir to the Empire killed by freakish creatures only because she was feeling a little tired. She felt weak and foolish. What was she even doing there, lying in that bunk? She wasn’t meant to be there, yet she brazenly accepted their generous invitation. I should have known better, I don’t deserve to be here…   
Amira squeezed her nose a little too tightly, sending a shot of pain up her face to interrupt the thought. She wasn’t going to go down that train of thought again. The first rays of daylight were just peeking over the Jerall Mountains and she was already covered in blood and pushing negative thoughts out of her brain. Amira picked herself up off the floor and said a quiet prayer to whatever one of the Nine listening that the rest of her day would be better.   
Returning to sleep was useless at that point. Dawn signaled the start of her duties shortly. She figured she wouldn’t have been able to sleep even if she wanted. Besides the anxious thoughts lurking in her mind, the dream had genuinely spooked her. She didn’t want to risk another nightmare. Instead, she changed into a fresh linen shirt and trousers, pulled on her boots and stepped into the cold morning.   
A burst of wind washed over her, shivering away the last treads of sleepiness in her head. She didn’t care for the cold temperature, she grew up in the desert after all, but there was some aspects of the wintery landscape she found herself appreciating. Everything look pretty glazed with a light dusting of frost, like icing on a sweet roll. Plus, it was satisfying it was to curl up next to a warm fire with a full cup of mead at the end of a long shift.   
In the days since she join the Blades, patrol made up the majority of her duties. She knew this was both to offer her a rest from combat and to give Jauffre time to figure out what to do with her. Yet, it bothered her. After days of harrowing experiences with imps, deranged cultists, mutant men and literal demons, patrolling felt absolutely dull. A waste of her energy. It wasn’t that she wanted more of those awful things, in fact she wanted the opposite. It made her antsy to sit within the safe walls of Cloud Ruler Temple while the people who caused Kvatch to fall were still out there. She shared her gripe quietly with Martin a few days before, grateful to find he agreed with her.  
“It’s difficult to just sit here and wait, especially without a plan,” his face grew serious and tired as they spoke by the firelight, long after most of her fellow Blades went to sleep. “But that doesn’t make it any less frustrating.”   
The two of them often sat in front of the large fireplace in the Great Hall during the evening. They discussed Martin’s research into the Mythic Dawn and Mehrunes Dagon, while Amira gave ideas on plans they could make. More selfishly, Amira simply enjoyed spending time with Martin. It prevented her from going to bed and listening to her anxious thoughts. Besides, he always insisted he wasn’t tired when she would suggest retiring for the night. It made her wonder if he had trouble sleeping as well. 

For the short time the older woman had lived at Cloud Ruler, the courtyard existed in quiet solitude in the early morning. Save for the given guards, Amira would wander the grounds by herself in the morning after a sleepless night to wake herself up. But today she spotted a familiar silhouette against the dawn light. Amira went to call out to Martin, but her greeting caught in her throat. He stood with his head bowed and hands intertwined in prayer. Warm breath turned foggy as it hit the cold air, his lips moving in a quiet mantra. She stared at him, noticing thing that hadn’t stood out before. His cheekbones were sharp, defined under his tanned skin, yet his chin was rounded softly. There were wrinkles clustered in the corners of his eyes, reflecting the long nights he often spent huddled over an old book.   
Martin didn’t look like a stately emperor. He was quiet and unassuming. Whenever anyone addressed him as You Highness his cheeks would burn and he’d shuffle his feet awkwardly. After years of pious living practicing humility, he had trouble adjusting to his new role. It was only when he spoke could Amira see his potential as a leader. He spoke with ease in front of others, his voice seemed to fill whatever room he spoke in. One-on-one, he made the person he was speaking with feel as though they were the only person in the world- as though whatever they had to say was important.   
A breeze blew across his face as she watched him, rustling his soft, dark hair. When he finished his prayer and turned to her, his grey-blue eyes glittering as he smiled, Amira froze. Slowly a thought came to her mind. A single word crossed her mind and slipped past her lips.   
“Beautiful,” Amira whispered.  
Suddenly, Martin’s serene expression twisted into confusion and concern, snapping Amira out of the daze.  
“Amira!” he called out, trotting towards her.  
“What is it?” her hand flew to her sheathed sword, glancing around the courtyard for whatever got his attention.  
“Your face!”   
“Wh- My face?”   
“You’re covered in blood! What happened?” Martin looked up at her with worry.   
Amira was suddenly thankful for the cold air that had reddened her cheeks for her.   
“If I said: ‘you should see the other guy,’ would you find that impressive?” she let out an awkward laugh.   
“No,” he frowned and took her face in his hands, inspecting her swollen nose.   
“Well good because the real story’s much more embarrassing. I fell out of bed square on my face this morning.”   
Martin gave her a quizzical look. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, glancing away to the quiet snowy mountains in the distance.  
“Nightmares,” she said simply.  
“Ah,” his voice softened. He didn’t press her further, to her relief.   
Martin tilted her face towards his, inspecting the nose carefully. Amira picked up on this funny thing he would do when he focused intensely. He would furrow his brow and chew on the edge of his lip softly, an unconscious action. Martin did it now as he looked her wound over, and she suddenly found her heart was racing. It thud in her ears, and she quietly prayed he didn’t notice the jump in her pulse. It wasn’t like Martin hadn’t been this close to her before, but with her newfound appreciation for the details of his face her breath kept getting caught in her throat in the strangest way.   
Martin worked deftly, too absorbed in his work to notice the growing discomfort from his friend. It was easy for him to will healing magicka up from someplace deep within and flow it freely from his palms onto her bruised nose. He could feel hundreds of blood vessels beneath her skin pop back together, cartilage snapping back into place. When he was finished he opened his eyes, her nose good as new. Only the drying blood on her upper lip betrayed any hint of wound.  
“Thank you Ma-” Amira jerked away from him, sneezing loudly. “It’s alright!” he laughed. “Magicka does that sometimes. Something to do with the way it bends flesh and interacts with it.”   
“That’s an upsetting way to describe it, but thank you for doing so,” Amira wiped off the remaining blood with the back of her hand, looking down at it. “You didn’t have to, you know.”  
Martin smiled. “Well, I couldn’t let you wander around looking like that.”  
“Ha! That’s fair,” she returned the grin. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you up so early?”  
He looked away from her, giving a shrug. “The same reason as you. Couldn’t sleep.”   
Amira studied his face, searching for an emotion but her friend suddenly seemed far away.   
“Do you… want to talk about it?” she asked, hesitantly.   
Martin was silent, thinking of a response. Before he could give it, they were interrupted by someone politely clearing their throat from behind. There stood a tall dunmer woman in Blades regalia. She had heavy lidded red eyes that gave her a severe expression. Amira nearly missed the tattoos faded against her blue-grey skin, swirly circle-patterned symbols under her eyes she recognized as Telvanni-associated.   
“Please pardon my interruption, my Lord, but I’ve been instructed to collect Initiate Halgal,” she bowed when she spoke to Martin, not glancing in Amira’s direction.   
“Oh, of course,” Martin nodded, stepping to the side. “Initiate Halgal, excuse me.”   
Amira snorted, making him grin. The dunmer shot Amira an icy look, quickly silencing the Redguard. Silently, she followed as the woman lead her across the courtyard towards the training area. It wasn’t until they were there that she finally spoke again.  
“You’re too careless with him.”  
Amira was startled. “Excuse me?”  
“You heard what I said,” the dunmer spoke with her back turned to Amira. “You’re careless with your actions. Your head’s in the clouds.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“I’m talking about how you act with the Emperor. It’s so casual. This isn’t some fellow Initiate, or even a noble you’ve buddied up to. That’s the Emperor of Cyrodiil you speak to so unceremoniously. You don’t act like a knight, let alone a Blade.”  
“Have you considered I’m not a knight?” Amira said incredulously. “You have no idea what I went through this past week, finding Martin-”  
“That’s what I’m talking about,” she turned to face Amira, making no attempt to hide the contempt in her voice. “Your informality is embarrassing. I’ve given my life to protect Emperor, yet you act like he’s your friend. Do you have any idea the situation we are in?”  
“I know more than you do!” Amira snapped. “You’re speaking so high and mighty, but I don’t even know who you are!”  
The dunmer stalked towards Amira. She was struggling to control her anger building inside her. Who was this woman to speak so lowly of her? Though the two women were around the same height, it felt as though the grey-skinned elf was looking down at Amira.  
“I am Malo Serethi, Knight of the Blades and soon to be Captain. I don’t care to waste time with niceties, I prefer to be frank. I was interested in you, Amira Halgal. To be invited to join the Blades is a great honor. For the Grandmaster to offer someone such a position, a former criminal such as yourself, no less, made me think you must be something remarkable. I see now, I was incorrect.”   
“To return the frankness, I don’t really care what you think of me,” Amira straightened herself, matching her fiery gaze. “I’m not here for your fucking knight dragon guard bullshit. I’m here because I made a promise that I intend to keep, no matter the cost.”  
The two stood squared, sharing a tense stare for what felt like ages. Finally, Malo clicked her tongue and turned around.  
“Grandmaster Jauffre requested I aid you in combat training. Meet me here at noon sharp,” she started to walk away. “Let’s hope my assumptions are incorrect.”  
Amira watched as she went, still fuming. Malo’s words cut deep, aiming for Amira’s own insecurities. But instead of tearing her down, Amira felt emboldened by her doubt. She felt more full of energy than she had in days, all thanks to her newfound petty drive to prove Malo Serethi wrong. It was one thing to doubt her abilities, but to doubt her dedication? To call her a liability? It filled Amira with a mix of rage and motivation.   
It was only after she took a deep breath and the adrenaline began to ebb Amira realized her hand was on the sword at her hip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! You thought I abandoned this fic, didn't you? Nope!! I'm so happy to be back. I've been stuck on this chapter for a while now, so I'm hoping finishing it will remove my mental block. After all I literally have this entire story planned out to a stupidly detailed degree. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for reading!


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